


Fix You

by fine_feathered_fiend



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Character Development, F/M, He lives I SWEAR you'll just have to trust me on this one, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bellamy, Hurt/Comfort, I murdered myself with the medical research on this one btw, I should probably chill with the tags but also no, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Love Confessions, More characters/tags will be added as chapters are added, Mount Weather, POV Alternating, Season 2, Starts in 2x12, Surgery, Worried Clarke, mostly medical stuff but yeah just a heads up on that one, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7466160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fine_feathered_fiend/pseuds/fine_feathered_fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tragedy strikes when Bellamy is shot in Mount Weather and Clarke finds herself trapped in Camp Jaha. Can Clarke save Bellamy’s life over the radio? Will she be able to live with herself if she can’t?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the tears come streaming down your face  
> When you lose something you can't replace  
> When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
> Could it be worse?  
> Lights will guide you home  
> And ignite your bones  
> And I will try to fix you

“I’m serious, Raven--” Clarke looked up at the young mechanic, face tense with worry, “--the _second_ that Bellamy takes out the acid fog, _you send that flare._ Not a moment later. Understand? Lexa and the Twelve Clans won’t wait forever. ” She continued rifling through her pack, rapidly accounting for everything that she’d need to attend the council in Ton DC.

Raven rolled her eyes. “No shit, Clarke. I’m not just gonna sit around on my ass after Bellamy disables the acid fog. I’m not stupid.”

Clarke grabbed her pistol and ejected its magazine, mentally counting out the ammo. _Only three bullets?_ She sighed, dropping the weapon back into her bag. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not stupid, Raven. It’s just-- this really needs to work.”

“It will. Bellamy’s closing in on the acid fog. It’s only a matter of time before we take that bastard out for good.”

Clarke gave Raven a tight-lipped smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m _always_ right.”

Clarke snorted and returned to packing. “Then let's get this done.”

Raven shot Clarke a grin. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a voice, crackling and muffled, blaring from the radio--

“--Ark Station, do you read me?”

 _Is that--_ Clarke furrowed her brow, turning to Raven. “I thought Bellamy wasn’t supposed to check in for another hour?”

“He’s not.” Raven jumped on the radio, working to clarify the signal.

“Raven, are you there?” He called out again, his breath tighter and thinner than a piano wire. “We’ve got a problem.” Clarke’s stomach dropped out of her ass.

 _No..._ She snatched up the radio’s transmitter. “Bellamy, it’s Clarke. What’s wrong? What happened?” Her heart slammed against her ribcage.

“Clarke,” he said, voice low and breathless. “Clarke, I’m really sorry--”

“What. Happened.” She cut him off, fear scaling the base of her neck with pinprick claws.

Raven adjusted the radio once more and the static cleared. She hissed in triumph. “Got it!” Clarke could barely hear her.

“I was trying to find the acid fog--” He broke off, groaning under his breath.

“Cut to the chase, Bellamy.” Worry sliced her to the bone.

“I got shot.”

Her heart stopped. “What?”

“They shot me. I-- I can’t get the acid fog, I’m sorry.”

Static overwhelmed Clarke’s body, buzzing thickly in her chest and vibrating down her fingertips. Fleeting nerves left her a statue, cold and unmoving, transmitter frozen in her hand.

“Oh shit…” Raven murmured, snatching the transmitter from Clarke’s grasp. “Are you okay?”

“No, Raven. I got shot, I’m definitely not okay.”

“Shut up, I mean are you _going_ to be okay?” Raven corrected gently.

“I don’t know.” Bellamy paused for a moment. “There’s a lot of blood.”

 _There’s a problem._ Clarke blinked and shook her head. _Fix the problem._ “Where’d they shoot you?”

“In the side.” A small shred of relief loosened the tension in her chest. _Okay, that’s a start. Maybe it’s not that bad._

Raven looked at Clarke expectantly, holding the transmitter between them.

“Above or below the ribs?”

“About an inch below, on the right side.”

 _Oh thank god, it missed his lungs._ “Good, that’s good,” she said. “Is there an exit wound?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I can check--” He inhaled sharply, air hissing through his teeth.

“--It’s okay! You don’t have to check! You’d know if there was an exit wound, Bellamy. I can’t imagine not feeling that.”

“Right. My bad.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to help you through this, okay?” Clarke said, gripping the transmitter with white knuckles. Bellamy was going to be _fine._ He had to be.

“Okay.” He huffed a small laugh. “Thanks, Princess.”

Clarke smiled gently. “Let’s try to make this a one time thing.” Raven put a hand on her shoulder and cocked her head towards the hallway. Clarke nodded. “Bellamy, I have to do something real quick, but I’m going to be _right_ back. I want you to put pressure on the wound, okay?”

“Okay.” He mumbled, exhaustion already wearing into his voice.

Clarke tried not to think about it as Raven dragged her just outside of the engineering room and stopped, hands planted firmly on her hips. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m helping Bellamy, do you have a problem with that?” Clarke’s eyes turned to acid, _daring_ Raven to challenge her.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “No, I don’t have a problem with that, _obviously._ But you’re supposed to go to Ton DC, remember?”

“I’m not going.”

“Wait, what?” Raven looked up at her incredulously. “You’ve been raving about this meeting non-stop for days, Clarke! I’m pretty sure you’ve said _“this better work”_ and _“this is our last chance at survival”_ and _“if we can’t pull this off then we’re all dead”_ at least twenty freaking times, and now you’re just dropping it? Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” she said, voice flat and impersonal. Her glare told a different story.

“What about Lexa and the Twelve Clans, Clarke? What about the alliance? You _killed_ Finn for this, are you really telling me that was all for nothing?”

“Do you want Bellamy to die too? Because that is _exactly_ what’s going to happen if I don’t stay here and help him.”

Raven scoffed. “Oh please, it’s not like you’re the only doctor in Camp Jaha. You’re probably not even the best one we have, so you better think of a new excuse.”

Clarke paused, heat rising in her chest. She shuffled in place for a moment then sighed, anger falling away. Nothing but fear and regret stood in its place. “I need to stay here because this is all my fault. I’m the one who sent Bellamy to Mount Weather. I told him that it was _worth the risk_ , Raven.” Her voice threatened to waver, but she held strong. “And now he’s bleeding out in that fucking mountain because of what I said. This is my fault, so it’s my job to fix it.”

“Clarke,” Raven said, a little more gently. “You can’t run from your responsibilities just because you feel guilty about putting Bellamy’s life in danger. You made that decision as our leader, and you need to stand by that.”

Clarke shook her head and frowned, eyes cast to the floor. “I didn’t send Bellamy to Mount Weather because I thought it was the best decision. I did it--” She took a shaky breath. “--I did it because I was hurting. I was hurting and I didn’t want to feel that pain ever again. But I just made it even worse. God, I made things so much worse.”

Raven inhaled sharply, anger lighting behind her eyes. “Don’t you _dare_ blame your stupidity on losing Finn. _You_ killed him. I didn’t want that, Bellamy didn’t want that, nobody wanted that, Clarke!”

“I didn’t want it either!” Clarke shouted, eyes shining. “I didn’t want to kill Finn, but the Grounders would’ve killed _all of us_ if I didn’t.”

“You don’t know that!” Raven yelled back, voice shaking. “We could’ve ran! You could’ve talked to Lexa! Something-- _anything_ \-- but you didn’t even _try_. You decided that the best option was to plunge a knife right into his heart while everyone watched. While _I_ watched.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, words void of emotion. “I wish things could’ve been different, Raven. I really do.”

Raven looked at Clarke in disgust. “I don’t care. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret giving you that knife.”

“I did what I had to do,” she said, more to herself than to the grief-stricken mechanic.

A harsh laugh broke from Raven’s chest. “Is that what you’re going to tell Octavia after Bellamy dies?”

“Bellamy’s not going to die.” Clarke shot back angrily. “I won’t let that happen.”

“If only Finn had been that lucky.”

Clarke’s breath caught in her chest. She stood completely frozen, thoughts and actions rendered stagnant. Any words she might’ve chosen swam uselessly throughout her head, escaping out her ears and bouncing down the cold metal hallway.

Raven cleared her throat and stepped away from Clarke. “I’ll tell Kane that you’re not going to Ton DC.” Her voice was calm and measured, a clear sign that their discussion was far from over.

“Thank you.” She shuffled on her feet, anxiously backing towards the radio. _To Bellamy._

“Hey, Clarke?” Raven asked, grabbing her attention at the last second.

“Yeah?” Clarke said. An unfamiliar sense of impatience tingled through her limbs.

“I really hope you’re right. I really hope you can save Bellamy.” Genuine sincerity filled Raven’s expression, and for a single fleeting moment Clarke wanted nothing more than to fall to her knees and relentlessly apologize for every single way that she’d wronged the young mechanic. Because in the deepest pit of her heart, Clarke knew that she never wanted to hurt Raven. She never wanted to hurt Finn. She never wanted to hurt anyone. But try as she might, grief and agony followed in her wake.

She paused, briefly overwhelmed by the horrific weight of her existence. But as soon as the moment had arrived, it left, taking any desire to apologize with it. After all, she made her decisions as their leader. She needed to stand by that. “Just go talk to Kane, okay?” she said, tall and demanding and absolutely certain. _Just like a real leader._

“Fine, whatever.” Raven huffed, stalking down the long dim hallway. Then there was only Clarke, the engineering room, and the quiet hum from Bellamy’s radio.

_Bellamy--_

Clarke flew across the engineering room and snatched up the transmitter. “Bellamy, are you there? I’m back. Raven had to go, but I’m back. I’m sorry that took so long.”

For a moment, there was nothing but static. Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and waited, willing herself to keep it together. _Come on, Bellamy…_ The radio crackled to life. Air filled her lungs once again. “Hey, Princess. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.” Bellamy’s voice called out, playful but fatigued.

Clarke smiled despite the cold weight that settled in her chest. “Unfortunately for you, I remembered. It looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“Could be worse,” he said, attempting (unsuccessfully) to hide the strain in his voice.

She straightened in her seat, worry ruining the moment. “How’s your side?”

“Still hurts like hell.” He sighed, breathing ragged and fraying at the edges. “It won’t stop bleeding.”

“Have you been putting pressure on it?”

“I’m trying, but it’s not like I have bandages here. I’ve been using my hand.”

Clarke swallowed thickly, trying not to visualize Bellamy’s situation in too much detail. “It’s okay, that’ll work too.” She took a shaky breath. “How much blood do you think you’ve lost?”

“Fuck, I don’t know Clarke. It’s all over my clothes, but that could mean anything.”

 _He’s got a point._ Blood loss was tricky subject. Sometimes smaller wounds would bleed unnecessarily while serious ones appeared mild on the surface. It was an unfortunate complication, but Clarke had been trained to identify the key warning signs of a severe injury. _Too bad they didn’t train Bellamy._ Her blood ran cold. “Don’t worry about it for now. We’ll just try to stop the bleeding from here.” She pinched the bridge of her nose before adding lightly, “Sorry about your clothes.”

“They’re not mine,” he said, frigid tone betraying a story that Clarke hadn’t heard yet. She resolved to ask him about it later, if-- _when--_ she corrected herself-- _when he gets through this. He’ll get through this._

 _Dammit, why can’t I be there?_ She shuffled the transmitter between her hands, wracking her brain for a solution. The one she found made her stomach turn. “Hey, Bellamy?” she began, already regretting her decision.

“Yeah?”

Clarke took a deep breath. “I need you to try and remove the bullet. Can you do that for me?”

A long pause came from the radio and Clarke was hit by a sudden urge to take her request back. She shoved it down, acid and all. _This is necessary._

“Okay,” he said, voice shaky and withdrawn. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Alright, good.” She nodded to herself, only growing more tense with Bellamy’s confirmation.

“Where do I start?”

“Take off your shirt,” she said, trying not to think of all the times she’d imagined telling him the same thing. As usual, reality fell short of her daydreams.

He gave a quiet laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.”

An abrupt silence grew between them, sending a brilliant red flush across her cheeks. _Thank god Bellamy isn’t here to see this--_ A massive wave of guilt slammed into her over the innocently tactless thought. _Oh god I can’t believe I just thought that when--_

Bellamy’s voice came crackling over the radio before Clarke could properly devolve into a pit of self-loathing. “Okay, my shirt’s off.”

“Good,” she replied awkwardly.

“Should I take my pants off too?” he joked, weary and breathless from the exertion of undressing. _If taking off his shirt was **that** difficult, then Bellamy must be even worse than I thought…_

“Let's keep your pants on-- for now,” she said, attempting pitifully to lighten the situation.

“Your loss.”

Clarke huffed a laugh. “I’m sure.” She frowned to herself, not ready for what came next. “What does it look like-- your bullet wound-- what does your bullet wound look like?” she added before he had the opportunity to make another nervous joke.

“It looks like a bullet wound, Clarke. You know, the little circle with blood coming from it?”

“Bellamy…”

He sighed, breath catching on the way out. “Clean entrance. No exit wound. Still bleeding, but it got a little better once I laid on the ground.”

Clarke closed her eyes and tried to visualize the wound. She found it easier to pretend that it belonged to someone else. _Anyone but Bellamy._ “Do you see the bullet?” she asked softly.

“No,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

A chill ran down her spine. “Okay, that’s okay. It could still be a shallow wound,” she murmured, not quite sure who she was really comforting.

“Can I use my hand?” Bellamy asked suddenly, pulling Clarke’s attention.

“What?”

“I don’t have anything to take the bullet out,” he explained, voice shaking. “Is it okay if I just try to see if I can grab it with my hand?”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. “That’s fine.” _It’s not fine. This is anything but fine._

“I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Okay.” She gripped the transmitter even tighter and braced herself. For a moment, it was completely silent, save for Bellamy’s uneven breathing. That changed very quickly.

It took Clarke a moment to realize that the choked groan coming over the radio wasn’t from interference or background noise-- it was Bellamy. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Bellamy.” She began speaking rapidly into the transmitter, voice low and hushed.

The groan was broken by a few ragged breaths and what sounded like-- to Clarke’s growing horror-- a sob. “I know, I know it hurts. It’ll be okay, Bellamy. You’re going to be okay.”

With her words, he finally broke, voice ripping apart with an inhuman scream that Clarke knew would haunt her for the rest of her life. “Bellamy!” she shouted frantically into the transmitter. “You can stop! Please, Bellamy!” Her heart froze when his scream turned into a strangled gagging sound.

“Bellamy!” Clarke yelled so loudly that a pulse of static burst through the radio. _Please be okay. Oh god, please let him be okay._ Tears filled her eyes and she choked back a sob. _This can’t be it. He can’t die like this._

The gagging sound peaked into a guttural retch that made Clarke’s blood run cold. Then, as quickly as it came, all of the pain and horror flooding through the radio died away, leaving only the sound of their equally shaky breathing in it’s wake.

“Bellamy?” Clarke whispered into the transmitter, voice wobbly and pinched. A few stray tears ran down her cheeks but she couldn’t care less. Her heart had been run through a blender. Tears were more than reasonable.

Bellamy’s breathing was heavy and clipped-- far worse than before. “I’m okay,” he returned weakly. “I just-- I threw up. I had to stop after that.”

Clarke’s gut twisted. “Bellamy…”

“It’s okay, I can try again,” he said, completely missing the point. “I just need a minute.”

 _Like hell you’re trying again._ “Absolutely not,” she said, firm and measured and absolutely certain. Even though all she wanted in that moment was to just cry her eyes out for _at least_ an hour. But that wasn’t an option. Bellamy needed her to be strong. He needed her to find a solution. So she pressed onward. “I-- I can’t listen to you going through that again. I just can’t.”

“Clarke--”

“I’m not having you do this!” She cut him off. “You don’t have to take out the bullet. I’ll think of something else.” She propped her head in her hands and began wracking her brain for something-- anything-- that might be able to save Bellamy.

 _Maybe he can try more bandages?_ “Bellamy, do you have anything that you could use to stop the bleeding? Scraps of cloth, bandages, things like that?”

“No,” he murmured over the radio, far softer than Clarke would’ve liked. “I don’t have any of that.”

“What about your shirt? Didn’t you take off your shirt?”

A heavy sigh. “It’s completely soaked in blood. I can’t use it.”

 _Fuck. Okay, we can still fix this. There are other ways to stop bleeding, Clarke. Figure this out!_ She dug her hands into her hair and squeezed, willing her brain to find a solution. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m in Mount Weather, Clarke. I thought we’d established that.”

She rolled her eyes, dropping her arms on the engineering table with a loud thud. “I know that, Bellamy! I mean where are you _in_ Mount Weather? Are you in someone’s room?”

“Oh…” Understanding dawned on his voice. “No, I think I’m in a storage closet. I can’t really tell, it’s pretty dark.”

 _Oh god…_ Acid spread through Clarke’s stomach. She choked it down. _Okay, maybe it’s not a bad thing. Maybe there’s something he can use in there._ “Okay, that’s okay. Do you see anything useful? Any ice, salt water, flour, electric tape, _anything_ like that?”

“Wait, what? Why would I want flour?”

“Bleeding, Bellamy! Those things could stop the bleeding!” Clarke exploded, dropping her head into her hands. “Please tell me that you see _something._ ” She pinched the bridge of her nose tightly and let out a long shuddering breath, feeling her nerves spark and catch like a live wire.

Bellamy sighed so gently that it hurt. “Clarke…” And with that single word, her heart broke in two. “The room’s almost empty. There’s only a couple boxes in here, but they’re stacked on the highest shelf and I-- I can’t get those.”

An icy hand squeezed Clarke’s lungs, but she pushed back. _No, this can’t be it! I can still fix this!_ “Can you get to the med bay? There’d _definitely_ be supplies in there. Do you know how far away you are?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, voice wavering slightly. “I can’t walk.”

The floor dropped out from beneath Clarke, leaving her to hang on desperately to whatever hope remained by her fingertips. She realized that, by some sort of hilarious irony, Bellamy wasn’t there to save her this time. She’d made sure of that. “That’s okay.” Her voice clipped upwards with false optimism. “I’ll figure something out. I can still fix this!”

Bellamy’s voice called out over the radio, soft and comforting but fading all the same. “It’s not your fault.”

Something in his words made Clarke pause. “What?” she asked, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m dying, Clarke… Promise me you won’t blame yourself for that.”

The world stood still. _He’s giving up._ “You’re not dying,” she said, feeling the declaration rattle through every fiber of her being. “You’re going to be _fine_ , okay?”

“Promise me, Clarke,” he whispered, voice growing weaker by the second.

 _This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening._ Desperation clawed up the back of her throat but she refused to stand down. “No! I’m not promising you because _you’re not dying._ ”

“Please… Tell Octavia that I love her. That I’m proud of her.” Bellamy’s voice was weary but full of emotion. “I always have been.”

 _Octavia. I’d have to tell Octavia if Bellamy--_ The thought of the younger Blake made Clarke jump to her feet. _I can’t tell her. I won’t tell her. I won’t need to-- This. Isn’t. Happening._ She snatched up the transmitter and spoke calmly but firmly. “Tell her yourself, Bellamy. You’re not dying. Do you hear me? You don’t die today.”

Clarke tossed the transmitter aside and began pacing across the engineering room. Past the radio and towards Wick’s workstation. Stop at the chemistry table. Turn. Back and forth. _He doesn’t have any bandages. Removing the bullet is out of the question. We need to stop the bleeding, but how?_ Countless ideas rattled desperately through her skull. _Maybe he can make a tourniquet?_ She continued pacing, her footsteps tapping across the hard metal floor. Back and forth. _No, if he doesn’t have the materials to make a bandage then he doesn’t have anything that could make a tourniquet. What if he called out for help?_ Static crackled over the radio. Bellamy was waiting. She paced harder. _No, the guards would find him first. Maybe we can send someone into the mountain?_ She stopped in front of a large collection of beakers and screwed her eyes shut. _Bellamy won’t last that long. He needs help now. What can I do that will help him right now?_ She tapped a finger between her eyebrows, willing her brain to find a solution. _Come on Clarke, think!_ Her face twisted into a grimace. She tapped harder. _Think!_ The radio buzzed impatiently. _Think of something!_ Static filled her thoughts. _Think of anything!_ Her heart pounded in her ears. _THINK!_

The horrifying reality of the situation smacked Clarke dead in the face. Her ears rang and her head spun as it rattled around her skull, bruising and crushing and devastating beyond all belief. _No matter what I do, I can't save Bellamy. This is it. This is the end._

She drifted back towards the radio and sat down, movements forced and mechanical. “Bellamy? Are you there?” She spoke softly into the transmitter. At first, there was only the quiet rustling of radio static. A gut-wrenching jolt of fear pulsed through Clarke’s veins. _Please… Don’t tell me that I’m too late…_

But then, like a beacon in a storm, Bellamy’s voice called back to her. “Yeah... I’m here...”

A small wave of relief crested and broke over her, and she slumped into the engineering table. _He’s still alive. He’s still here._ With a deep, shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and finally said it. “I love you.” The words came easily, like she’d already said them a million times over. And in that moment, Clarke wished that she had.

Bellamy’s breathing hitched. “Don’t…” he warned, voice low and defensive.

She stopped dead. “Don’t what?” Her heart laid bare and completely vulnerable in the palm of her hand, but he wouldn’t take it. _What if he…_

A long pause. Then Bellamy whispered, quiet and broken. “You don’t have to say it just because I’m dying.”

And then it all made sense. _He doesn’t know._ The realization punched Clarke square in the chest, cracking her ribs, stealing her breath, breaking her heart. _How could he not know?_ She shook her head and smiled sadly, despite the tremble in her lip. “But I do. I love you. I’ve loved you since we landed on this god-awful planet and I will never stop loving you. Not now, not ever.”

“Yeah?” His voice called back. It was gentle and barely there, but happy. Oh it was so happy, happier than Clarke had ever heard it.

“Yeah, Bellamy. I love you.” She said the words again, softly but with absolute conviction. Because if there was only one thing in the world that Clarke could be certain of it was that she loved Bellamy. She loved him, but now she'd have to lose him.

He sighed contentedly, voice pulling further and further out of focus. “I love you too, Clarke.”

She let out a laugh so short and so bitter that it might’ve been a sob. After weeks of mindlessly waiting and wondering, hoping for the _right_ time, she finally knew. He loved her. _Bellamy loved her._ And she loved him. But love wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.

But goddammit she could still try.

“If you love me--” The words caught in the back of her throat, “--then you have to stay alive, okay? This isn’t the end for us, Bellamy. There’s still so much left for us to do, and I can’t do it without you. I just can’t.”

“Yes you can, Clarke,” he said, words weary but still spoken with all too much confidence. “I know you can.”

White-hot fear coursed through her veins. _No, no, he can’t just give up like this!_ Her hands shook as she gripped the transmitter even tighter, squaring off her voice before trying again. “Even if I could do it alone, I still wouldn’t want to. I _want_ you here with me, Bellamy. We’re going to save our people. We’ll get them out of that mountain and never let anything bad happen to them ever again. I want you to be there for that.”

“I want to be there too…” The rest of his sentence hung thickly in the air, unspoken yet bitterly understood. _I want to be there too, but that’s not up to me._

Clarke swallowed roughly. Steadying her breath grew harder and harder with each passing second. “ _Then be there._ We-- we’ll get married, Bellamy. We’ll spend the rest of our lives together. And we’ll lead our people together, better than anyone else has ever done it! And we’ll have _at least_ three kids.”

“What about--” his voice hitched, “--the one-child rule?”

“Screw the one-child rule! I want our kids to have siblings.” _Our kids…_ A warm feeling spread through her limbs at the thought. _But we won’t get that chance, will we?_ The feeling turned to ice.

Bellamy gave a soft, fading sigh. “That’d be nice…”

 _This can’t be happening. This can’t be it._ The knot in Clarke’s chest began to hopelessly unravel, taking her composure with it. “We’re gonna be happy, Bellamy. You and me? We’re gonna have the best life. We’re gonna be so happy.” _We would’ve been, but I sent him away. I did this to him._ Tears rolled down her cheeks and her voice was choked. “So you can’t die, okay? You can’t die, because we’re supposed to end up together.” Her lip trembled pitifully. “We’re meant to be.”

“Meant to be…” Bellamy echoed, fading into silence. Clarke could hear the smile in his whisper.

And then she couldn’t hear anything.

“Bellamy?” Her heart stopped.

Nothing.

“Bellamy!”

Nothing.

“Oh god…” The air had been stolen from her lungs. _No, no this can’t be it! He can’t be gone!_ “Bellamy…” she sobbed, clutching the transmitter like a life-line.

Only static remained.

The world came crashing down. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry…”

No response.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I love you...”

Silence.

She said it again. “I love you!”

For all the times that she wanted to, but was too afraid of those three little words. “I love you.”

For all the times that she should’ve said it, but never did because the time wasn’t _right_. “I love you.”

And for all the times that she could’ve said it, but wouldn’t be able to now that their future had been stolen from them-- now that he was gone. “I love you…”

She laid her head on the table and sobbed, her heart a writhing pit of snakes, her lungs made of acid and flames. She sat there, twisted and burning, and waited. For something. For anything. But with each passing moment she knew that it was all for nothing. _Oh god he’s gone, he’s really gone…_

Fire turned to ice. Acid turned to lead. Her head was stuffed with cotton and a cold void filled her chest. Nothing was right in the world because Bellamy wasn’t in it. He was gone. _Dead._ The world would never be right again.

In the back of her mind, Clarke knew what came next. She didn’t want to say it-- she didn’t want to accept what it meant. But she knew Bellamy deserved more than that. He deserved to be sent off, even if it had to be over the radio. Even if doing so would rip her to pieces.

_He deserves better than **this **.****_

With that bitter realization, Clarke closed her eyes and dreamed of what might’ve been.

_They really would’ve saved everyone. Clarke was sure of it. Anything was possible when they worked together. Even peace._

“In peace, may you leave this shore.” She began, voice shaking horribly.

_In time, the council would’ve come to respect Bellamy’s undeniable talent and skill as a leader. They would’ve finally seen that he was so much more than their petty labels. He was strong. He was brave. He was someone worth knowing-- someone worth trusting. He was **good**. Clarke knew that-- she believed that, even if Bellamy didn’t._

“In love--” The words stuck painfully in her throat, but she pressed on. She had to finish. _For him, do it for him._ “--may you find the next.”

_They would’ve built a life for themselves-- for their people. One where death wouldn’t loom over their heads at every turn. Where problems would be met with the perfect blend of empathy and reasoning, instead of the chilling mix of violence and inhumanity that they’d known for so long. They would’ve built a new life. A better life. And they would’ve done it together._

“Safe passage on your travels--” Tears overwhelmed Clarke’s vision, but she didn’t care. Nothing was worth seeing at this point.

_Together. That’s really what it all came down to in the end, wasn’t it? Any problem. Any need. It was all so easy as long as they were together._

“Until our--” she broke off, barely coherent, “--our final journey to the ground.”

_Only now they weren’t together, and they never would be again._

“May--” _Finish the blessing--_ The room dipped and swam with each heaving sob that wracked her frame. _You have to finish the blessing--_ “may we meet--”

The radio crackled to life with a sharp burst of static. “--Hello?” A small female voice called out, so fast that Clarke almost missed it.

She froze in her seat. Her pulse thrummed behind her eyes and tears continued to run freely down her cheeks. _Was that--_ She stared at the radio, mouth hanging open, vision still blurred beyond recognition. _No… I have to be hearing things--_

“Hello?!” The voice called out again. “Is anyone there? We need help!” Her words were jumbled and frantic, but real. Very very _real_. Clarke leapt on the radio, snatching up the transmitter and speaking in a blurred, shaky rush.

“Maya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to Eden (sassybellamyblake) for being an _amazing_ beta reader and letting me annoy her with this fic at all hours of the day! (Seriously, she's freaking amazing, go follow her on Tumblr and check her out on Ao3!)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave comments/criticisms/thoughts/anything, I love them to pieces. 
> 
> I'll do my best to have Chapter Two up as soon as possible!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, subscribed, and left kudos on Chapter 1!!! Seriously, you guys are freaking amazing and were _definitely_ a _huge_ motivator for me to get this chapter up and posted. I love you all!  <3
> 
> Still, I'm sooooo sorry this took so long to update!!! (Life got a little crazy for a while, but fortunately things figured themselves out so I was able to _finally_ finish this!) Hopefully a 10k chapter will (slightly) make up for it? :)

“Is he alive??”

Maya kneeled in the dim storage room, hands hovering over Bellamy’s blood smeared torso. Her heart pounded at the scene before her. Blood. Sweat. Vomit. She opened one single door and found a soldier-- no, a _boy_ \-- that she barely knew sprawled across the cold concrete floor, shirtless, covered in blood, and nearly dead.

“ _Maya!!_ ” Clarke’s voice echoed throughout the tiny space once again, shaky and ragged beyond all belief. “ _Is Bellamy alive??_ ”

“Yes--” she glanced quickly at Bellamy’s chest to find it rising and falling in a weak stutter-step, “--yes, he’s still alive. But it’s not looking good-- Clarke, there’s so much blood and I-- I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh my god…” Clarke choked out, barely audible over the radio. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ …” Relief flooded from her every word so heavily that it was almost painful to overhear.

The storage room door flew open, bathing the dim room in a layer of harsh artificial light. Maya whipped her head around to see three familiar figures standing in the doorway, horrified expressions plastered on their faces.

Monty, Miller, and Jasper all spoke at once, flying into the crowded space.

“Bellamy!”

“What happened??”

“Oh god… Is he--”

Maya cut Monty off with a hand to his chest. “He’s still alive, but I don’t know for how long. I don’t know what happened.” She looked worriedly at the radio lying next to Bellamy’s relaxed and outstretched hand. “Clarke... What happened?”

“Wait, Clarke’s on the line?” Miller asked, turning from where he’d been facing the wall. His hands were thrown behind his head and an expression of grief and fear was apparent on his face. Maya’s heart twisted.

“I’m here…” Clarke’s voice called out over the radio, quiet and wavering, a far cry from the commanding jabs that she’d thrown at Maya when they first met.

Jasper kneeled beside Maya, eyeing Bellamy in horror. “Clarke, what happened?” he breathed, eyes wide.

“He got shot by one of the guards.”

A heavy weight pounded into Maya’s chest. _One of my people did this to him._ “I’m sorry…” she whispered, voice cracking.

Jasper placed a hand on her knee, steadying her. “This isn’t your fault, Maya.” His voice was shaky and full of emotion, but honest.

Maya swallowed down sand and nodded, looking away.

“I need you to take out the bullet, Maya,” Clarke said abruptly, breaking the heavy silence like a crack of lightning.

“What?” She looked up at the boys in horror. _I can’t_ \--

“I’m not asking you, Maya.” Clarke said, stern, but not unkind. “If you don’t take out that bullet, Bellamy _will_ die. And I’m not going to let that happen, understand?” Each word was spoken with an icy and deliberate enunciation, as if it were taking all of the power in the world for Clarke to not rip apart at the seams.

 _This is a terrible idea._ Maya tried again. “I don’t know if I can--”

“You work in the medbay, right?”

She looked at Jasper, at a loss. “Sort of? I mean, I do room decontaminations and I’m an intern, but that doesn’t--”

“So you know how to give stitches?”

“Yes, but--”

“You know how to bandage a wound?”

“I do, but--”

Clarke kept going. “Do you know--”

This time Jasper cut her off. “Clarke!” His voice echoed throughout the tiny space, only made more apparent by the sudden silence. Monty and Miller eyed Jasper awkwardly, and he swallowed nervously, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Let Maya talk, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Clarke snapped, sending the room into a tense silence. “Bellamy is bleeding out _as we speak_ , and he has been for a while now. Meanwhile, I’ve been _trapped_ on the other side of this radio the entire time, and there was absolutely _nothing_ that I could do.”

Jasper’s gaze cast to the floor. A pained expression crossed Monty’s face. No one dared cut in.

Clarke carried on, a terrifyingly cheerful tone just barely tinging her words. “But now you’re here! And Maya’s here! And Maya has some level of medical knowledge, so she’s going to help Bellamy. This is going to work. We’re going to make this work.”

The sudden burden of responsibility over Bellamy’s life weighed Maya down like a concrete block on the ocean floor. “Are you sure that you trust me to do this? I-- I’ll do my best, but I really don’t know a lot about this stuff, Clarke.”

“Either you help Bellamy, or he dies. And I’m not about to let that happen, Maya. I--” she broke off for a moment-- “I thought that he was dead-- before you came in-- I thought he was already dead. So to have this chance? After _that_ ?” She gave a short, near hysterical laugh. “I’m not letting him die, Maya. And you’re going to help me. Understand?”

She sat for a moment, completely surrounded by blood and indescribable grief for someone who was still alive. Someone whose life was inching away with each passing second, like sand through an hourglass. Or an ocean’s receding tide. Or some other horribly cliche metaphor that could only begin to explain how it felt to watch someone fade away and die right in front of you.

But Maya could stop that.

“I understand. I’ll do it,” she said, scared to the core but still beyond certain of her decision. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you save Bellamy.”

A sigh of relief. “Good. Thank you.” Clarke said, voice noticeably softer. “I’ll be here the whole time to guide you through it.”

“Where do I start?”

“You’ll need medical supplies. I’m talking antiseptic, sutures, needle drivers, bandages, saline solution, and most importantly you’ll need a pair of those really thin forceps.” Clarke spoke in a rush, rattling off the list like she’d made it an hour prior.

Maya nodded to herself. “Alright, we can do that. There’s a supply closet just past the dorms that should have everything we need.”

“Good. That’s good. One of you needs to go _now_. I-- I don’t know how much longer he can last like this.”

Monty spoke up, clearing his throat. “I’ll go.”

“Monty--” Jasper immediately jumped in.

“It’s okay, I know which room she’s talking about.” He turned to Maya. “It’s to the left of the dorms, just around the corner-- right?”

Maya looked between the two boys and nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Are you sure that you know what everything looks like?” Clarke said, voice crackling over the radio. “We can’t afford to make this trip twice.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m pretty sure.”

“ _Pretty sure?_ ” Clarke screeched, voice shooting up an octave. “Monty, _pretty sure_ isn’t going to cut it.”

“Why can’t Maya go?” Miller offered from where he stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. “She’ll know what to grab, right?”

Maya opened her mouth to agree but was cut off by Clarke immediately shooting back, “No, I need Maya to stay here. She’s the only one of you with any sort of medical knowledge and if Bellamy starts to--” she stopped for a moment, clearing her throat roughly, “--I need her to stay in case something happens. Someone else has to go.”

“And that might as well be me,” Monty said, looking quickly between Maya, Miller, and Jasper.

 _He’s right._ “Okay, you’ll go.” Maya said, voice trained and calm.

Jasper looked up at him helplessly. “Are you sure?”

“I have to do _something._ This will help.”

“I’ll go with him.” Miller chimed in, stepping to Monty’s side. The other boy made no move to stop him.

Jasper stood quickly and pulled Monty into a tight hug. “Be safe.”

“I will.”

He hugged Miller next, briefly clapping him on the back. “You too.”

Miller grunted in assent before pulling away and looking at Maya. “Do you know if Bellamy uh…” He glanced around the room awkwardly. “Does he have any weapons?”

Maya looked around Bellamy’s still form. “I don’t know.” His shirt was stripped off and lying a foot away, soaked in blood. His bulletproof vest laid next to it, a large gash ripped in its side. _So much for bulletproof._ The holster strapped to his hip was noticeably empty. “Clarke, did he mention any weapons he might have?”

“No,” she responded quietly. “We didn’t really talk much about that.”

Jasper gently looked through the pockets lining Bellamy’s pant legs, regret and guilt painting his expression. His hands returned empty and he shook his head. _Nothing._ He began sifting briefly through the pile of blood stained clothing before coming across a long, cruel, metal rod. “I found a shock baton,” he announced shakily.

It was one of the standard shock batons issued to every single guard in Mount Weather. A chill ran down Maya’s spine.

“That’ll work,” Clarke said.

“Sounds good.” Jasper nodded, handing off the baton to Miller. The other boy nodded in return, training the weapon expertly in his hands.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Monty said, exchanging a few final glances.

Clarke’s voice crackled over the radio, quiet yet firm. “Thank you.”

And with that, Monty and Miller filed out of the storage room, letting the heavy metal door close behind them with a muffled thud. Only Maya, Jasper, Bellamy, and Clarke (in a sense) remained. The room still felt strangely empty.

Maya decided to break the silence. “Is there anything I can do to help him?” she asked, unsure of where to begin. _Have Clarke and I even had a real conversation before?_ Shards of glass and vicious glares flashed behind her eyes. “I mean is there anything I can do _now_ ? I--” She looked back at Bellamy’s supine form-- “I hate just sitting here…”

Jasper gently held her hand, looking into her eyes with an appreciative understanding. “You’ve already done so much, Maya. We wouldn’t be anywhere without your help.”

A tiny smile graced her lips. _He sure does know what to say._ “I know--” she straightened her expression-- “But I can always do more.”

“Can you put pressure on the wound?” Clarke asked before Jasper could protest again. Her voice was tired and worn, fraying painfully around the edges. Maya could only imagine how difficult it was for her to be on the other side of Bellamy’s radio.

“I can do that,” she nodded to herself. “Should I just use my hands?" she added, absentmindedly beginning to roll up the sleeves on her blouse.

Clarke inhaled sharply, briefly catching Maya’s attention. “ _No_ \--” she said before Maya could ask any questions-- “No, we don’t want to risk infection…” Her voice was tight and distracted. “Do you have any cloth to use as a cover?”

Maya turned towards Jasper only to find him staring pointedly at the bloody wound in Bellamy’s side. His expression had paled considerably since finding Bellamy and Maya had a feeling that it wasn’t just because of the excessive amount of blood coating the floor and their friend. She squeezed his hand and he whipped his head around to look at her. “Can we use your shirt to put pressure on Bellamy’s wound?” Maya asked gently, trying to bring Jasper down to earth. “I’d use mine but I don’t have an undershirt,” she added, lightly raising an eyebrow.

Jasper shook his head loosely as if to clear his thoughts, hair falling wildly into his eyes. He let out a nervous breath. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.” He pulled his hand from Maya’s and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You know, there are easier ways to get me to take my shirt off,” he laughed nervously, pulling his arms out of his sleeves one by one.

A short laugh busted from Maya’s chest at his comment. They were hiding away in an abandoned storage room, kneeling in a pool of Bellamy’s blood, waiting desperately for their friends to return with the supplies necessary to save his life, and naturally Jasper thought that was the _perfect_ time to flirt with her. A bubble of warmth sat in her chest despite the hilarity of the situation. _This week sure is wild._

“Not that I don’t want to sit here and listen to you two flirt with each other, but let’s try to stay on task?” Clarke sniped over the radio, voice drier than sand rolled in salt.

Jasper looked up at Maya with wide eyes before turning his gaze to the wall. A hot blush spread over his neck. “Yeah, yeah sorry--” He bunched his shirt up in a loose wad and handed it to Maya without looking-- “there you go,” he mumbled.

“Thank you,” Maya replied just as awkwardly, taking the shirt and re-folding it into a tight bundle. She stared down at Bellamy, at his wound. The shirt suddenly felt like a napkin. “Do I just… press it on there?” she asked, holding it cautiously over Bellamy’s side.

Clarke sighed roughly. Maya could practically _feel_ the tension rolling from her every word. “Place the shirt onto Bellamy’s side and apply firm and even pressure,” she recited mechanically. “Press hard enough that you’re making full contact, but not so hard that you start pushing on his organs. Understand?”

“I understand.” Maya nodded to herself, then pressed the folded shirt into Bellamy’s bloody and torn side. She winced to herself for a moment, half expecting Bellamy to jolt awake kicking and screaming from the contact. Jasper inhaled sharply beside her, apparently expecting the exact same outcome.

When nothing to that effect happened, Maya collected herself and did just as Clarke said: she applied firm and even pressure. “I did it, I’m doing it right now,” she announced to the room when Bellamy somehow _didn’t_ blow up during her first medical intervention. His chest still rose and fell weakly, but it was a lot better than the alternative.

“Good,” Clarke grunted. Maya looked to Jasper and they shared a grim look before glancing back down at the half-dead boy in front of them.

Maya said it first. “Do you think he’s lost too much blood?”

The door flung open before Clarke could answer. Monty and Miller rushed hurriedly into the tiny space, arms overflowing with medical supplies.

Monty sat promptly next to Maya and began unloading the newly stolen equipment. “Sorry we took so long,” he apologized distractedly, stacking a few packages of gauze next to a particularly large bottle of antiseptic. “We almost ran into a guard on our way back and had to find a way around him.”

Jasper nearly dropped a set of needle drivers in shock. “What?!”

 _Oh god…_ “Did he see you?” Maya asked frantically.

“No,” Miller answered, shaking his head. “We got the hell out of there before he could see us.”

Maya closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled in relief. “Good. If one of the guards had caught you with stolen medical equipment…” she trailed off. It didn’t need to be said. They saw what one of the guards had done to Bellamy. They knew what they were capable of.

“Thank _god_ Miller was paying attention--” Monty cut in, loosening the uneasy lull. “I nearly walked right into the guy-- I didn’t see him _at all_ \-- but Miller heard him around the corner and pulled me back.”

Miller shrugged modestly. “The guy had some loud boots.”

“ _Still_ \-- thanks for saving my ass. That would’ve sucked.”

“Understatement,” Jasper grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Miller glanced worriedly at Monty, then leaned in closer to the radio. “Clarke, he was heading to the dorms.”

Jasper’s jaw dropped. “Oh shit, they didn’t take anyone did they??”

“No--” Monty shook his head-- “no, nothing like that.”

“At least for now,” Miller growled, eyes dark. “Did you know anything about this, Maya? Because I think I remember something about you being pretty reluctant to go with Monty to the supply closet and then _this_ happens and--”

“What?! No! I swear-- I would _never_ hide that from all of you.”

“Like how you hid the harvest chamber?”

“Which I eventually showed you, at great personal risk, might I add!”

“Yeah, shut the hell up, Miller! Maya’s done nothing but help us--”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s helped you _plenty_ , Jasper.”

“Hey!”

“That has _nothing_ to do with this!”

“Guys, lets all just calm down--”

“Bite me, Monty!”

“So now you’re being rude to your best friend?? Nice. _Real_ classy.”

“As if you didn’t start this bullsh--”

“It's Bellamy.”

Everyone stopped dead.

“What?” Monty asked, gaping blankly at the radio. Jasper and Miller were frozen mid-argument, postured tensely in each other’s faces.

The radio crackled and Clarke spoke again. “They’re looking for Bellamy,” she said bluntly, as if the answer were infinitely obvious. “That’s why they’re looking in the dorms. They want to make sure that he’s dead."

“Oh…” A sickening feeling spread throughout Maya’s chest. _They won’t stop until they have a body._

“We gotta get a move on with this and get him out of here,” Clarke said, a slight tremor of worry just barely making it’s way through her otherwise steadfast commands. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Maya nodded briefly, shame creeping across her cheeks. “Right-- Sorry.” She gestured towards the supplies cradled absentmindedly in Miller’s arms. “Here--” she waved her hands at him-- “I’ll take those. Clarke’s right, we don’t have time for this.”

Miller stared at the tiny smears of blood coating her palms, eyes flitting nervously between them and Bellamy. He swallowed thickly and shook his head before thrusting the supplies into Maya’s hands. “Yeah, sorry. Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured roughly over the radio. Miller looked at his hands.

“It’s fine,” Maya said, dropping the supplies into her lap and quickly accounting for everything they had. There was an unopened bottle of antiseptic solution and another, slightly larger, bottle of labeled saline solution with a bright blue flip-open cap. They’d grabbed three curved suturing needles, unopened and pristine in their clear plastic packages. There was a small pair of clean metal pliers. _That’s probably the needle driver._ Six unopened packages of gauzey bandage rolls. And finally, a set of especially long, thin, rounded tip forceps. _And that’s what I get to take out this bullet._ “Looks like everything’s here,” she said at last, breaking the pindrop silence of the storage room.

“Good. Great,” Clarke sighed in relief. “Let's get started.”

Maya looked down at Bellamy, at the weak rise and fall in his chest. His skin was pale and ashen and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Jasper’s shirt hadn’t done much to stop the bleeding, and was nearly soaked through already. There really _wasn’t_ another option for them.

“Okay,” she nodded grimly, looking out at the worried boys positioned awkwardly throughout the tiny space. “I’d really appreciate it if one of you would help me with this.”

“Like a medical assistant?” Monty asked, nervously crossing his arms.

“Yeah, like a medical assistant. Doctors usually have those, right?”

“Yes, doctors usually have medical assistants, Maya.” Clarke said, tone equally patronizing and nerve wracked. “That’s a good idea though. Having someone help you would make things go quicker,” she added, sounding slightly more positive. Maya repressed the urge to roll her eyes. _Oh, you’re really too kind, Clarke._

“Can you help me, Jasper?” She turned to the younger boy, surprised to find a look of sickening dread spreading across his face.

He paled significantly then shook his head. “I-- I want to. But I can’t. I’m sorry I just--” he swallowed roughly-- “It’s one thing to see blood out on the ground, but this--” he broke off, looking down at Bellamy, something far beyond sadness painting his expression.

“He’s your friend,” Maya said, understanding crashing over. _He doesn’t want to cut into his friend._

“He’s not just our friend,” Monty continued, shuffling in place before staring at the wall. “He’s our leader, just like Clarke. Without him we wouldn’t be _alive,_ so it’s just…” he too trailed off, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s hard to see him just laying there, unconscious and surrounded by a pool of blood, okay?” Miller finished bluntly, statement rattling around the room with painful truth.

Clarke made a small choked sound before responding, voice small and shaky. “Well, _somebody_ has to help him. You can’t just leave him there.”

“I’m going to help him, Clarke,” Maya said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

“I’ll help too,” Miller added. “It’s hard to see Bellamy like this, but I can still help. I want to help.”

“Thank you,” Clarke whispered. Her voice was smaller than Maya had ever heard it. The effect was both intriguing and heart-wrenching.

They all sat in silence for a moment, their respective roles decided and all preparatory steps taken. Supplies were accounted for. Everyone was ready (or as ready as they’d ever be.) All that remained was the actual act of removing the bullet.

“Alright.” Maya let out a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. _Take it one step at a time. Listen to Clarke. You can do this. You will do this._ Her heart pounded wildly in her ribcage, but when she opened her eyes the tremor in her hands had steadied and the vibrating erratic thrumming of adrenaline had faded away into a level hum. She looked briefly at each of the three boys in the room, then down at Bellamy. _I’m going to help you. I promise._ Lastly, she turned back to the radio, straightening and pulling herself together into something strong enough to handle the situation before them. Or, at the very least, someone brave enough to try. “Let’s do this.”

“You got this,” Jasper said, taking her hand in his with a reassuring squeeze.

Maya gave him an appreciative smile, and for a quick moment they simply sat there, building each other up without needing a single word. In a perfect world, she would’ve remained there for hours-- she was certain of that much. But a perfect world generally didn’t involve medical vampires or nuclear apocalypses or giant pools of warm slick blood. Only reality painted such a brutally vibrant picture. So Maya reluctantly drifted down from the stratosphere, and let her hand slip back into her lap. Jasper sighed limply, but didn’t protest. Their shared perspective was undeniable, but like so many things in their life, the words were better left unsaid.

Maya settled on a somewhat looser topic. “You should probably sit back against the wall. I have a feeling that there might be a lot more blood once we get started.”

“There will be,” Clarke noted distantly, offering no explanation past her statement.

“Right,” Jasper looked nervously at the radio, then to Maya. “Good call. I’d probably just throw up on him.”

“You would,” Monty clapped a hand on Jasper’s shoulder, steering them both towards a smooth patch of concrete wall between two largely empty shelves. They slumped quietly in the alcove, but still kept a close eye on the scene before them.

Miller crouched next to Maya, staring down at Bellamy with a shaky yet clinical stare. “Where do we start?”

“Right--” Clarke cleared her throat briefly, then continued on, considerably more poised-- “Before you do _anything,_ I need you to sanitize both of your hands _and_ all of the instruments. The last thing we need is for Bellamy to get an infection.”

“Right-- of course.” Maya uncapped the bottle of antiseptic and poured it carefully over each metal instrument, one by one. The strong smelling liquid trickled over each tool in a steady stream, splashing over her hands and collecting in a thin pool that seeped into her skirt. She silently handed off each instrument to Miller, and he placed them carefully one by one on an unfolded pad of gauze. When at last even the set of brutally long pliers was completely disinfected, she tilted the bottle towards him. “Here, I'll sanitize your hands then you sanitize mine, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He nodded quietly and held out his hands, washing them thoroughly in the cool slippery stream. Then he took the bottle with a fresh pad of gauze and Maya did the same.

“Okay, Clarke. Our hands are clean and so are the instruments. What's next?” Maya asked, in a way that she hoped was more clinical than confused.

“I need you to inspect the wound to make sure there's no debris that could accidentally be pushed into it,” she answered as if reciting from a textbook. _Thank god for Clarke._

“Definitely--” Maya nodded in Miller’s direction-- “I'll do that right now.”

“I’d sure hope so. Again, we don't have a lot of time here,” Clarke huffed, annoyance failing to conceal the tremor beneath her words.

Maya carefully lifted Jasper’s shirt off Bellamy’s side and swallowed thickly, trying to ignore how the loosely knit fabric was heavy and dripping with freshly spilled blood. It oozed through the gaps between her fingers, and with a sickening churn of her stomach she noted that the blood was still warm. She quickly set the shirt onto the cold concrete floor with a pointed squelch, and took a steadying breath. Salty blood and bitter antiseptic clouded her thoughts. _Oh god, it smells like a moratorium._

“Do you see anything in there?” Miller asked, pulling Maya away from the edge. His expression was carefully trained, save for a firm crease in his brow.

She cleared her throat roughly and looked away from her hands. “No, at least not immediately.” Reluctance pulled at her chest, but she quickly amended her statement anyway. “I’ll get a closer look.”

He nodded shortly, jaw wired shut.

Maya leaned in closely next to Bellamy’s side, feathery black hair dusting across her cheeks and sticking to the sweat on her brow. She focused intently on the scene before her, eyes raking over every inch of the brutal wound, searching and researching for anything unusual.

The jagged wound was a few finger-breadths below Bellamy’s ribcage and tilted inward at a sharp angle. It’s edges were torn, ragged, and seeping dark red blood at a slow yet unyielding rate. His whole side looked raw and torn. There was no debris and no shrapnel, but the bloody mess of skin and flesh looked less like a bullet wound and more like someone had tried to rip through Bellamy’s side with a clawed hand. _Did a bullet really do this?_ The words flew out before she could stop them. “Are you sure he got shot?”

“That’s what he said,” Clarke responded, dull and withdrawn. “Why?”

“It doesn’t _look_ completely like a bullet wound. The edges aren’t clean, they’re all torn up.”

“Oh--” Clarke’s voice was suddenly choked.

“What is it?” Monty asked immediately. “Is something wrong?”

“No--” she said, still noticeably distraught-- “I just-- It’s definitely a bullet wound.”

“Well then why does it look like that?” Miller asked, brow wrinkling with concern.

“I…”

“Clarke,” Jasper sat up and leaned towards the radio. “What happened?”

The room was silent for a moment. Maya’s pulse pounded in her ears.

“I tried to have Bellamy take out the bullet by himself, and all he had…” she trailed off, voice pinching.

Maya stared down at the ragged wound in Bellamy’s side and the streaks of blood that smeared across his torso, striping his chest, lining his forearms, and leading directly to-- “His hands,” she murmured. “He had to use his hands, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Clarke croaked, “he had to use his hands.”

“Oh god…” Monty whispered.

Miller stared at Bellamy with a horrified expression.

Jasper glanced briefly at Bellamy’s palms before abruptly paling and sitting back against the wall with a hand clapped to his mouth. “Okay yeah, I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbled around his fingers, eyes watering.

“That’s why Bellamy had to stop. He would’ve kept going but I made him stop after he threw up from the pain.”

“Not helping,” Jasper groaned miserably, “ _Definitely_ not helping.”

“Sorry,” Clarke mumbled, sounding far too resigned to be anywhere near apologetic.

“That sounds like Bellamy, alright,” Miller added distantly, “He never knows when to stop, does he?”

A ragged sigh threaded over the radio. “I guess not.”

A heavy silence swirled through the room, threatening to swallow them whole.

Maya spoke first. “What about-- I mean--” she stammered, desperately trying to alleviate some of the tension-- “There’s no debris, what do I do next?”

“Right, right--” Clarke cleared her throat roughly-- “Did you disinfect the wound at all?”

“No, not yet. Should I?”

“ _Yes, you should disinfect the wound!_ ”

“Okay, okay! I was just checking,” Maya insisted. “I don’t want to do anything without you saying it’s okay first.”

Clarke let out a shuddering sigh. “Okay… Sorry,” she added after a moment.

“Let’s just get this thing going,” Miller grumbled, picking up a pad of gauze and passing it to Maya. “The sooner we start the sooner we can finish. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to make this even a _second_ longer than it has to be.” He paused for a moment, lost somewhere deep within his thoughts. “I think we owe him that much.”

“We owe him a lot more than just moving quickly,” Clarke whispered.

The room fell quiet once again.

Maya soaked the pad of gauze in antiseptic and pressed it gently to Bellamy’s side, carefully dabbing at the streaks of blood staining his skin. “What comes after this?” she asked without looking up from the task at hand.

“You’ll take out the bullet,” Clarke answered bluntly.

Maya’s hand stilled. “Just like that?”

“There’s a few technicalities, but otherwise, yeah. Just like that. This isn't surgery, Maya. You’re just taking out a bullet, it’s a fairly straightforward process.”

A small tug pulled on the gauze in Maya’s hand and she whipped her head to the side, surprised to find Miller quietly pulling the blood soaked fabric from her grasp and replacing it with a fresh one. She opened her mouth to thank him, but stopped when he shook his head briskly.

“It's fine,” he said, turning back to prepare more pads of gauze. “Just focus on doing what Clarke says, I'll take care of the rest.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, at a loss. _This is really important to him, isn't it?_ She shook her head briefly in an attempt to clear her thoughts, and turned her attention back towards the radio. “What kind of technicalities?”

“Nothing too drastic--” Clarke began, a tiny sliver of optimism edging up behind her words-- “We got lucky and the bullet is in the upper righthand quadrant, that saves us a _lot_ of problems.”

“And it _‘saves us a lot of problems’_ because…” Miller ventured, drawing the last word out with expectant annoyance.

“It means that there’s not a lot of organs that you have a chance of messing up. But you do still need to be careful because there _is_ the kidney.”

“Is there any chance of me hitting his lungs?” Maya asked.

“No, no, that’s in the thoracic cavity. You’re fine.”

“What about veins and arteries? Any of those?”

“No, nothing that you need to be worried about.”

“Nothing at all?”

Clarke sighed, long and weary. “No, not really. Honestly, by all definitions there just isn’t a lot in that area that could be causing this level of damage. He shouldn’t-- I just--” her voice pinched abruptly-- “I don’t know why he’s this bad. He shouldn’t be _this_ bad…”

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay? I’m not going anywhere until we do,” Maya reassured, another brick laying heavy on her shoulders.

“Good. Thank you,” Clarke replied, ragged and uneven.

“Ready when you are.”

For just a moment, everyone was nearly silent. No one moved. No one breathed. Maya could’ve sworn that even her frantically racing heart froze alongside them. And then Bellamy exhaled, air rattling shakily from his weakened lungs, and they all swung back to Earth.

“Alright, Maya,” Clarke began, voice trembling slightly beneath a layer of radio static. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, because I _can’t_ have you mess this up. I just can’t.”

“I’m listening,” Maya conceded, bright red gauze poised loosely in her grasp. Hot slick blood oozed between her fingers, and she tried desperately to ignore the fact that she couldn’t see the skin of her hands anymore beneath the thick layer of blood. There was only red.

“Okay, good. Did you sanitize the forceps yet?”

Maya glanced at Miller, who nodded fervently. “Yeah, we did that,” she confirmed, pulling the soaked gauze off of Bellamy’s side. Four pads later and his side was mostly clear of blood, but the remaining mess of torn flesh was hardly an improvement. Maya twisted her fingers together absently, feeling them glide and slip from the excess blood that coated her palms to the wrist.

“Alright, I need you to grab those. That’s what you’re using to take out the bullet, okay?” Clarke asked warily, almost as if she were afraid that Maya would suddenly change her mind and leave Bellamy to die.

“Alright,” Maya said, voice flatter than the military-grade concrete that they kneeled on. She turned limply to grab the forceps but was stopped by a folded pad of clean gauze being pressed into her hands instead.

Miller looked at her with something suspiciously close to pity. “For fucks sake, you can wipe the blood off your hands first, Maya,” he insisted, pushing the cloth more firmly into her grasp.

“You doin’ okay?” Jasper called out from his position against the wall.

“Yup!” she answered immediately, quickly unfolding the gauze and scrubbing it roughly against her palms. _Come on, Maya. Get it together._ She discarded the damp cloth in the ever-growing pile at her side and pretended not to notice the lines of red worn deep into the creases of her skin. “Thanks, Miller,” she gave a false smile and held her hand out expectantly.

He nodded slowly, expression skeptical, and handed over the metal forceps. “Now what?” he asked the radio, tone betraying only the slightest note of hesitance.

“Okay, Maya. I need you to take the forceps and gently push them further and further into the bullet wound. You should feel absolutely _no_ resistance when doing this. If you feel _any_ resistance then you need to stop and readjust your angle because that means that you’re not following the bullet hole correctly. _Do you understand me?"_

Maya nodded shakily for a moment, before dimly realizing that Clarke couldn’t actually see her behind the radio. She cleared her throat shortly, feeling waves of tension loosen and rebuild under her skin. “I understand,” she confirmed, finally tying herself down to the floor and the task of putting Bellamy back together again.

“I’ll be right here the whole time if you need anything,” Clarke said, voice winding down to a nervous yet steadfast constant. “Miller, are you still helping Maya?”

“Yep,” Miller confirmed, briefly readjusting himself at Maya’s side. A stack of pristine folded bandages rested patiently in his lap, and every instrument they’d been able to scrape together laid on a pad of fresh gauze right between them. “I’ll be right here the whole time too,” he added in what Maya suspected was probably supposed to be a reassuring gesture. Instead it just made the bricks in her chest press harder.

“I’ll be there in spirit!” Monty chimed in from his and Jaspers’ shared wall. He raised his hand in a halfheartedly playful wave, although a firm crease still wore deeply between his brows and the light in his eyes was next to nothing.

“You can do this, Maya,” Jasper met her gaze with an expression far too serious and sincere for someone his age. “I _know_ you can do this,” he repeated, emphasizing the word with a subtle smile that loosened the tension in Maya’s limbs ever so slightly. Just enough so that she could give a slight (yet appreciative) nod in their direction, then turn back to Bellamy, forceps trained carefully in her hand.

“Alright…” she murmured to herself, edging the tool nervously towards the gaping hole in Bellamy’s side. “I’m doing it now. I’ll let you know what’s going on as it happens,” she announced to the room and the radio, voice leveling out into something stronger than she expected. _No more waiting. We don’t have time for this. Just take the bullet out!_ And with that, she steadily pushed the forceps deep into the bullet wound, quickly burying them in flesh and blood.

Miller sucked in a quick breath.

She shot him an unappreciative glare, despite the overwhelming roar of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Sorry,” he grimaced, turning back towards his pile of neatly folded gauze. He stacked and restacked the piles, straightened the little metal tools: anything to keep his hands busy.

Maya nodded mechanically, focusing back in on Bellamy. “It’s fine,” she muttered. “Clarke? I started. I’m-- uh…” she sighed wearily, tempted to squeeze the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“You have the forceps in his side?” Clarke finished, blunt as ever.

“Um… Yeah. They’re about an inch deep.” Maya shuddered, continuing to push the forceps along at a pace so slow that she was nearly at a standstill. Only she wasn’t. She was still moving forward, still pushing deeper. The nerves in her hands buzzed, hypervigilant for _any_ sign that things were about to go south. Any hiccup. Any catch. Any tremor running along the vicious metal forceps that seemingly grew shorter and shorter as they disappeared down inside the bloody wound. But the seconds ticked by and the forceps slid deeper without incident, like a smooth metal snake down the world’s worst rabbit hole.

“Are you feeling any resistance?” Clarke broke the silence, her voice shattering the room like a crack of lightning, despite being relatively quiet in volume.

“No,” Maya answered, adrenaline rolling down her spine. “I haven’t felt anything like that, the bullet wound is pretty big.”

Clarke sighed bitterly. “Let’s pretend that’s a good thing, okay?”

“Okay,” Maya conceded, trying to sound hopeful, for Clarke’s sake at the very least. But another stone was still placed deep in the pit of her chest, making it just a little bit harder to breathe. Before she could dwell on it further, the forceps clinked to a stop, coming to rest on something hard. Something foreign.

“What is it? Why did you stop?” Miller asked, looking rapidly between Maya and her frozen hands.

“ _Why did you stop?_ ” Clarke echoed frantically.

“I think I found it,” Maya answered. “I think I found the bullet.”

Silence.

“Are you sure?” Clarke asked, frighteningly calm.

Maya paused, rapidly weighing the countless possibilities in her head. They flooded her thoughts, and for a moment she doubted if she could ever really be sure of _anything_. But reality and the cold metal forceps pressed into her, grounding her, and she decided, “Yes, I’m sure. It’s the bullet.” _What_ else _could it be?_

“I need you to pull it out _very_ slowly, and Maya if you feel _any_ resistance whatsoever then you need to let go because that’s not the bullet. And if that’s not the bullet then god knows what you’ve grabbed onto.”

“Okay,” Maya affirmed shakily. _This is totally fine. You just have to be completely right or Bellamy will probably die. Nope, no pressure there…_ She let out a ragged breath and adjusted her grip on the forceps, moving to grab (what she hoped was) the bullet before her thoughts could spiral any further.

The long metal instrument flexed and pinched, before cinching shut on something small and firm. It couldn't have been larger than the tip of Maya’s pinky finger, but _god_ for all she knew that could be anything.

With that, she pulled her hand out and away at an agonizingly slow pace. The forceps slid out of the wound as if it weren’t even there, but Maya held fast, resisting the overwhelming urge to yank the forceps from his side and throw them across the room. To run away and scrub her hands until dark red turned into raw pink and this was no longer her problem to handle. It was tempting, almost worryingly so.

But Maya had never been one to run. She knew better than that. She wanted to be better than that, more than anything. Her mother hadn’t given up her life so Maya could be complacent. So she could be a bystander while innocent people withered away and died right in front of her.

Like the Grounders.

Like Bellamy.

So she steadied her hand, leveled her breathing, and went slow. And after what felt like an eternity without improvement, a tiny glint of metal flashed at the surface of the bloody wound.

Her breath caught in her throat. _The bullet._

“Is that--” Miller broke off, mouth hanging open.

Maya rapidly lifted the tiny scrap of metal from Bellamy’s side, dropping it into her bloody palm. “I got it! I got the bullet!” she announced to the room, unable to stop the smile that broke across her face.

“The whole thing?” Clarke asked, still refusing to be prematurely optimistic.

She rolled the bullet between her fingers, feeling for any imperfections. It was deceptively small, silver and shining. It was hard to believe that something so unassuming could cause so much damage. But luck seemed to fall on their side just this once, as the bullet was entirely undamaged. There were no scratches, no chips, and no fragments. “Yes! It’s intact, it’s completely intact!” Maya answered, letting herself feel a small moment of victory.

Monty and Jasper drifted closer from their corner, peering at the bullet with hopeful expressions. She held it up for them to see, and they exchanged a happy glance.

A crack of laughter burst over the radio. “That’s it! You did it!” Clarke said, unmistakably relieved and elated and worn out, all at once.

“I did?”

“You did it, Maya.”

The entire room let out a collective sigh of relief. Miller clapped a hand on Maya’s shoulder, Jasper and Monty high-fived, and Maya felt like just this once, she’d done something right. “Oh thank god,” she breathed, dropping her head forward and laughing slightly.

“All you have to do now is clean up any excess blood and put a little pressure on the wound. Then once the bleeding slows you can stitch it shut!”

“Absolutely! Definitely!” Maya said, taking a pad of gauze from Miller and gently wiping away at the blood caked on Bellamy’s side. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to give someone stitches,” she added playfully, smiling even harder when she heard Jasper snort across the room.

“Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” Clarke replied kindly. Apparently after all they’d been through, even Clarke _shards-of-glass-and-high-heels-are-definitely-weapons_ Griffin was starting to loosen up a bit.

Maya resisted the urge to roll her eyes, dabbing a second pad of gauze against Bellamy’s side. “No kidding.” A twinge of concern pulled at her chest when the fabric bled through in seconds.

“Here,” Miller handed her another fold of gauze, eyes fixed on Bellamy.

“Thanks,” she murmured, pressing it more firmly to the bloody wound. The thin material soaked right through, turning red and heavy with fresh blood. Maya had taken out the bullet, but Bellamy was still bleeding heavily. _Why hasn’t it stopped yet?_

She grabbed a fourth pad of gauze, then a fifth, then a sixth. But every single one of them came away dripping wet, and the wound still showed no signs of stopping. Maya’s heart turned to ice. _What did I do??_ She pushed desperately against the wound, feeling panic rise in her chest when blood welled up and seeped between her fingers.

“Have you started the stitches yet?” Clarke asked, voice heartbreakingly optimistic.

A chill ran down Maya’s spine. “I-- I can’t. It won’t stop bleeding.”

“What do you mean it won’t stop bleeding??” she shot back immediately, a far cry from the relief she’d expressed just a moment prior.

“I don’t know!” Maya answered, honest. “I-- I don’t know what’s wrong! I put new gauze down and it lasts maybe ten seconds, Clarke it’s not stopping!”

“What’s going on?” Jasper asked, scooting closer. Monty followed close behind, eyes owlish with concern.

“I don’t know! I don’t know what’s happening!” she repeated, feeling more and more frantic as the seconds ticked by.

“How much blood is there?” Clarke asked, breaking through the fog that threatened to swallow Maya whole.

“I’ve already gone through six pads of gauze--” she broke off when Clarke swore violently.

“ _Fuck,_ that’s not good…”

A sickening feeling spread through Maya’s stomach. “What did I do??” The silence that followed only amplified the feeling.

“I-- I don’t know,” Clarke finally conceded. Maya’s heart dropped further. “Are you _sure_ that you didn’t hit anything?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately. “I went really slow, I didn’t feel anything catching. I just grabbed the bullet and took it out-- I didn’t feel _anything._ ”

“Okay! I believe you. I really do,” Clarke said. Her supposed confidence felt like a consolation prize. Maya didn’t want it.

“Are you sure the bullet didn’t hit an artery?” Miller cut in, clasping his hands together with white knuckles. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet for the past hour, but if the concern plastered across his face was anything to go by then it definitely wasn’t out of apathy.

“No, no, you’re nowhere near any of those,” Clarke answered, distracted.

“Well what else is there? This much bleeding can’t be normal.”

“It’s _not._ Something… something’s definitely wrong...” she trailed off, voice wandering away like an echo down an old cavern.

Maya sat there, mentally grasping for something to say. _Anything._ Instead she was left dead silent, with her mouth hanging open dumbly. No one said anything. What could be said? There was an undeniable problem right in front of them, that much was obvious. But this wasn’t just about solving a problem or fixing a mistake. It was about saving Bellamy’s _life._ Bellamy was so much more than a piece of the puzzle that was _“how do we save Jasper and Monty and Bellamy and all of the kids that had been taken into the mountain”_ and that only made everything that much harder. If they lost this? If Bellamy died? It wouldn’t just be a failed “mission.” It’d be a loss that no one would _ever_ fully recover from. That much Maya was certain of. They couldn’t lose Bellamy. They just couldn’t.

“Clean him off,” Clarke said suddenly.

Confusion spiked through Maya’s brain and she turned to look at the radio, an incredulous expression plastered across her face. “Wait-- what? Why??”

“Clean him off, we’re gonna figure this out.”

“Okay,” Maya nodded, grabbing another handful of gauze wiping away the new streaks of blood that striped Bellamy’s side, all while keeping her other hand pressed firmly to the mound of gauze plastered over the wound itself.

A pinched sigh came over the radio. Clarke was thinking. Then: “I need you to tell me _exactly_ where the bullet wound is.”

Maya leaned back, judging the wound for a moment. She gently placed her free hand onto his side, carefully measuring the wound’s location with hesitant fingers. Bellamy’s skin was cold and clammy beneath her touch. Her heart dropped even further. _God, that’s not good. None of this is good…_ “It’s uh-- it’s three finger-breadths from the bottom of his ribcage and--” she leaned in a little closer-- “about… two-inches in from his side.”

“How’s it angled in?” Clarke continued on, still questioning. Still thinking. Still held solid with a clinical level of control. For a brief moment, Maya admired her unbelievable composure in a crisis. Come hell or high water, you could always count on Clarke. _Thank god for that._

“It’s angled back and inward,” Maya answered.

“Towards his spine??”

“No, it’s not as sharp as that. It’s about halfway there,” she clarified easily. She remembered every moment of removing the bullet from Bellamy’s side in painful, technicolor detail.

“That’s where the bullet was?”

“Yeah, about halfway towards his spine.”

There was another bout of silence, and Maya glanced nervously between the three boys. They were all waiting for some sort of direction, an explanation-- _any_ indication that things weren’t about to take an unstoppable turn for the absolute worst.

What they got instead did very little to relieve, or escalate, the tension building in the room. “Palpate his abdomen.”

“What? What do you… I mean…” Maya trailed off, a sense of overwhelmingly oppressive horror settling across her shoulders. And for just a moment, it was painfully obvious how little she knew. It weighed her down, dragging her through the dirt, and pulling the air right from her lungs. How could she _possibly_ do her best if she didn’t even know what she was doing in the first place?

A muffled curse threaded over the radio. Apparently Clarke had similar concerns. “Press on his stomach, Maya,” she amended, sounding like she’d been worn down past skin and bone, until there was almost nothing left.

“Okay?” The word lilted up in question, but Maya did as Clarke said, and placed her free hand firmly against Bellamy’s stomach. _You might not know what you’re doing, but Clarke does._

_Thank god for Clarke._

“Does it feel normal? Or is it rigid?” Clarke asked suddenly.

“Wait, _what_?” She didn’t even know where to _begin_ on that one.

“A patient with internal bleeding invariably presents with a rigid abdomen,” she said, as if reciting from a textbook. “Is his stomach unusually hard?”

Maya looked down at Bellamy, and then between the boys watching the scene in nerve wracked silence. “I have no idea how firm his stomach is supposed to be,” she said, feeling her face heat up at the admission. “Do any of you…” her sentence dropped off when she realized what she was asking.

Monty’s eyes grew wide and a flush spread across Jasper’s cheeks. Miller shuffled uncomfortably beside her and cleared his throat. “He’s-- uh-- he’s pretty cut, if that helps? I mean I haven’t _felt_ his abs, but I’ve seen him shirtless a few times--”

“Most of us have!” Monty jumped in. “Things were a little crazy when we first got to the ground. Y’know, _“whatever the hell you want”_ and all that-- oh god-- no-- no that’s not what I meant,” he stuttered, face turning bright red.

“No, god-- for fucks sake--” Clarke cut them off impatiently-- “It doesn’t _matter_ how _cut_ someone is, okay? He’s not going to be flexing if he’s unconscious. His stomach should be soft-- pliable, really. Anything more than that isn’t normal.”

“Oh… Okay, yeah, I’ll check for that.” Maya turned back towards Bellamy and pretended that she wasn’t avoiding eye contact with literally everyone else in the room. She pushed her hand gently against the flat plane of his abdomen, heart sinking when it held still and unsettlingly firm. She tried again, this time pressing with her entire palm. It barely moved. “Yeah, no, it’s-- uh--” she swallowed thickly-- “It’s not giving a lot. It’s not normal.”

“ _Fuck._ ” The word crackled over the radio, rough and pinched.

“Do you think there’s internal bleeding?” Maya asked, reluctant.

“Definitely.”

Another wave of silence spilled across the room.

Maya looked down at Bellamy, and a surge of sadness ran through her. She hadn’t known him for long, not even a full week, but the memories she had of him were so different than _this._ It was unsettling. It was _wrong._ The first time Maya had seen Bellamy, she watched him strangle a man to death with his bare hands not even two minutes after being woken from medical sedation.

But now?

He struggled just to breathe. His skin was cool, clammy, and unnaturally pale, even considering the storage room’s dim halogen lights. Countless lines and smears of blood were spread sporadically across his entire body. His side. His hands. There was a bloody handprint smeared across his upper arm, like he’d been trying to hold it steady and failed. There was so much blood. Too much blood. And not enough of it left in Bellamy.

A sheen of sweat was layered across him. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and for a moment Maya wanted to push it away from his face. To wipe away the crease between his brow. Anything that would make this easier for him. His face was still twisted with the ghost of a grimace, despite being unconscious, as if the last thing he knew was pain.

The thought haunted her.

She couldn’t even imagine how much harder it’d be if she was Miller. If she was _Clarke._ But instead of feeling like a victory, that small relief was just another weight on her chest. _I wish I could do more…_

Miller spoke up first, pulling Maya away from her reverie. “If he got shot then wouldn’t there normally be internal bleeding? Y’know, since it’s a bullet and everything?” he looked up at the radio, almost expectantly. But Maya could see from the dull light behind his eyes that he wasn’t expecting much.

Clarke picked up his question without heat. “Well, _yeah._ Obviously there should be _some_ level of internal bleeding, but if he’s losing this much blood then the bullet hit _something._ Something important,” she trailed off, thinking aloud. Her voice was ratcheted up with an unbelievable amount of tension, but she instead of falling or breaking, she kept her thoughts rolling. “I just don’t know what it’d be? It didn’t hit his stomach, it didn’t hit his bowel, it definitely didn’t hit his lungs,” she was listing now, voicing winding up and unravelling as her thoughts spilled out around her. “Really, the _only_ thing that’s over there is--” she cut off abruptly.

Everyone’s head snapped towards the radio.

“Is there a bruise on his side?” Clarke asked, voice mechanically level.

“What?” Maya stared at the radio, at a loss.

“A couple inches down, wrapping over his side-- the same one that got shot-- is there a dark bruise about the size of your hand?”

Maya’s eyes darted down to Bellamy’s flank to find what she already knew was there: a deep, brutal, dark purple bruise spreading across his side. “How did you know that?”

A choked sound came over the radio. “Oh god…”

Maya’s heart sank. “What? What is it?”

Clarke carried on as if she couldn’t hear her. “No no no no, this can’t be happening!! Why is this happening??”

“Clarke! What’s going on??” Miller nearly shouted, eyes wide with growing panic.

“What are the _odds_ of this even happening?? Oh _god,_ Bellamy…”

“It’s just a bruise! Right? It’s just a bruise…” Maya insisted, her heart sinking further and further.

“It’s _not_ just a bruise!” Clarke answered, voice choked with tears. “It’s-- it’s Grey Turner’s sign. It’s a sign of a retroperitoneal hemorrhage.”

Miller shook his head. “A _what_ ?”

A ragged sigh, and then a sniff came over the radio. “A retroperitoneal hemorrhage is an accumulation of blood in the retroperitoneal space. It only happens during specific aneurysms, or in the case of severe organ damage,” she recited, letting the words drop like bricks.

They still didn’t mean enough. “Clarke…” Maya began warily. “What does that mean?”

“ _It means that he got shot in the fucking kidney, okay?_ ”

“Oh god… Can we-- can we give it stitches??”

“No, that’s not how kidneys work,” Clarke said bitterly. Broken. “Once there’s that much damage done… You can’t save it.”

“Can we just stitch him up and see if it heals on its own?” Monty leaned in towards the radio, hands folded together nervously.

“Even if you stitch him up he’ll just bleed out internally. There’s too much blood flow through a kidney. You have to take it out.”

Maya was _sure_ she misheard that one. “Wait, what?”

“His kidney. You have to take out his kidney,” Clarke repeated, as if she hadn’t just suggested they remove one of Bellamy’s organs.

In a dark storage room.

With absolutely no experience.

“Clarke,” Jasper sat forward on his heels, eyes wide. “Are you _sure_ this is a good idea??”

Maya couldn’t even speak.

“Do you think that I want this?? Do you think that I _want_ his kidney to be ripped out by inexperienced teenagers in a goddamn storage closet just so he can _maybe_ live??” Clarke croaked, voice breaking off in a sob. “I-- I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t our _only_ option. You _have_ to take it out. If you don’t…”

“He’ll die,” Maya finished. Her head was stuffed with cotton. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

“Can we really do that?” Miller asked, mouth hanging open. He looked like he was comprehending the situation about as much as Maya was.

“I’ve assisted on the surgery once with an older patient on the Ark who was going through renal failure, so I do know the technicalities behind it. I can talk you through this.”

He shook his head, staring at the radio in disbelief. “Yeah, but that’s still just you giving directions over a radio, Clarke! Do you _really_ trust us to perform surgery on _Bellamy_ ? Do you? Because I wouldn’t!”

“I have to, Miller. Because if I don’t then he dies and that’s-- that’s on _me._ And I-- I can’t do that.” Her voice was pitifully choked, like she was holding back tears. “I can’t lose him…”

“Clarke, we’re in a storage room. I’ve _never_ done this. I can’t perform surgery like this, I barely know how to give stitches,” Maya said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not qualified for this. I don’t think I should do this.” There was too much truth to her words, and Maya hated herself for saying it. But she’d hit her breaking point. She wanted to help. She wanted to help so incredibly badly, but this? She wouldn’t be helping.

She’d be killing him.

And that was something else entirely. If it were a perfect world, Maya would know how to perform surgery. Or Bellamy wouldn’t have been shot. Or maybe they’d all be living happy, careless, radiation-free lives and none of them would ever meet in the first place. It was a careless thought, but it stung all the same. Especially when she realized that, out of all possible universes, they were trapped in this one. One where Bellamy was slowly bleeding out, Clarke was on the other side of a radio, and Maya didn’t know nearly enough to stop it.

She looked down at him, at the ragged rise and fall of his chest, and her heart broke even further. He was so young. None of this was fair, least of all to him.

_I’m sorry, Bellamy. I wish I knew how to fix you…_

“Please…” Clarke whispered, sounding like someone else entirely. She was quiet. Desperate. “Please, Maya. I know that I’m asking too much. I know. But I’m _begging_ you…” Her voice pinched tightly. “Please don’t let him die.”

She couldn’t say a word. How do you tell someone that there’s no hope? That no matter _what_ you do, the person that they love is going to die? She looked to Jasper, and briefly imagined a reversed situation. One where Maya was left in pieces, broken and begging for someone to help-- for someone to at least _try._

And suddenly the decision was so easy.

If she did nothing, then Bellamy would die. But she intervened? Cut him open, blindly removed his kidney, then hoped and prayed that _maybe_ she put him back together correctly?

_Oh god, he’s going to die either way, isn’t he?_

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

But they could still go down fighting.

They could still try.

“Okay,” she said finally, feeling the word cut through the room like a hot blade. “I’m in. I’ll do it.”

The sob that came through the radio ripped Maya’s heart in two. “Thank you…”

She nodded sadly, looking at Jasper, Monty, and Miller in turn. No one smiled. No one said anything. They all knew what came next.

This wasn’t a victory.

It was a funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first of all: 
> 
> _I PROMISE HE LIVES. I SWEAR. I REALLY DON'T DO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, SO I CAN 100% PROMISE YOU: BELLAMY WILL STILL BE ALIVE AT THE END OF THE FIC._
> 
> Alright! Now that I've gotten _that_ out of the way: please let me know what you think!! This chapter was definitely quite a challenge on several levels (i.e. having multiple speaking characters at one time, writing from Maya's POV, etc.) so I'd absolutely love to hear any feedback that you might have! 
> 
> GIANT shout-out to Eden (sassybellamyblake) for being an _amazing_ beta reader and dealing with my annoying ass for several months while I tried to get this chapter right!!! She's absolutely incredible!!!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for reading!!! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first of all: hoooooooly crap I am _so sorry_ that it took me so long to update!!! Unfortunately I had to take some time off writing for a few months, but I'm back and here's chapter three!! 
> 
> Thank you soooo much to everyone who stuck around and to all of your amazing comments! I love you all, and I hope you like this chapter :)

The minutes that followed were somber, to say the least. Maya occupied herself with tending to Bellamy, or at least trying. There wasn't much she could do other than keep pressure on the wound in his side and exchange bandages when they grew wet and heavy with fresh blood. So that's what she did. While the option still sat before her, Maya helped. 

In the meantime, Monty and Miller set out once again, on a blindly dangerous mission to the storage room that lay nearest to the harvest chamber. That was where they'd find the long list of supplies that Clarke made for them: right by the room where they were most liberally utilized. The thought sent a chill down Maya's spine.  _ They're so… blatant. _

“How's he doing?” Clarke asked, quiet. She hadn't been talking much since Maya agreed to operate on Bellamy, but she couldn't exactly fault her for that. What could be said?  _ Other than her goodbyes.  _

Maya glimpsed down at Bellamy’s weakly rising chest and choked back the wave of sadness that washed over her. “He's fine,” she answered simply. “No better or worse than before.”

“Good. That's good,” Clarke murmured. 

“Yeah.”

Jasper paced nervously across the tiny space. “They should be back by now,” he muttered, glancing intermittently between the door and Bellamy. “Shouldn’t they be back by now?” 

“Give them a little more time,” Maya reassured, calm. Always calm. “They have a lot of stuff to grab.”

“Do you really think they’ll remember it all?” Clarke asked, worry fracturing her voice. 

“They’re fine, Clarke. They made a list, remember?” Maya adjusted her grip on the gauze over Bellamy’s side. “They’re more than capable of finding everything.”

“Yeah but they’re unarmed--” 

“They have a shock baton--”

Jasper cut her off, voice shaking, “Okay, they have a shock baton! Great! The guards  _ all  _ have guns! You see what they did to Bellamy, right? And he’s our best shot, Maya!” 

“I know, I know,” Maya urged. “You just have to trust that they can do this, okay?”

Jasper stopped and sighed heavily. “Okay… I’m sorry, I just--” he cast another nervous glance at the door before looking back, eyes glassy-- “Monty’s my best friend…” 

“I know.”

“He’s my best friend and it’s been  _ fifteen minutes _ and I’m-- I’m starting to freak out a little, okay?”

“A little?” Maya said softly, a lilt of humor tinting her words. 

Jasper huffed a laugh. “Or a lot? I don’t know, maybe give me another five minutes--  _ then  _ I’ll really be freaking out.” 

“You and me both,” Clarke murmured. 

Maya gave him a tight-lipped smile. “They’re coming back. Any second now, they’re coming back…”  _ Please god, they need to come back. If they don’t come back then--  _

Before Maya could finish her thought, the door swung open with a heavy bang, nearly causing her heart to leap out of her chest. 

“Sorry! Sorry! We’re back-- Monty barreled into the room, arms literally overflowing with supplies.

“ _ Shhhhh!! _ ” Clarke hissed over the radio. Maya glanced nervously out the door.  _ What if someone heard him?  _

“Shit, right--” he winced, whispering loudly-- “Sorry--” A bottle of antiseptic dropped out of his grasp and bounced onto the floor, rolling towards Maya. 

“Holy crap that took forever,” Miller slipped in behind Monty, a large piece of electronic equipment balanced in his arms. Long strands of wire were grasped in his hands and he looked about ready to jump out of his skin.

“Did anyone see you?” Jasper asked, taking the large piece of equipment from Miller. 

“God I hope not,” Miller answered, locking the door with a secure metallic click. “Because we weren’t subtle-- at  _ all. _ ” 

“Oh great-- that’s just great,” he rolled his eyes dramatically. “So do you think we have five or  _ ten  _ minutes until the guards find us?”

“Shut up,” Miller grumbled, stacking an obscene amount of gauze next to Maya and righting the bottle of antiseptic by her knees. “We did the best we could.”

“No one saw us, Jasper,” Monty added quietly, unloading an open cardboard box of equipment. Needles. Gloves. A scalpel. Maya’s heart lurched.  _ This is really happening, isn’t it?  _

“How can you be sure?”

He shot him a grim look for a moment. “I don’t think we would’ve gotten here if anyone found us.” 

A chill ran down Maya’s spine. The mountain wasn’t exactly renowned for taking prisoners. Well, it took prisoners, but it didn’t keep them alive. Not permanently, and certainly not in a life that was worth living. “They’re back, okay? Let’s just focus on that right now,” she said, quiet.  _ Let’s keep focusing on the positives while they’re still around.  _

“Did you get everything?” Clarke asked, breaking the tension of the room. 

Miller’s face lit up slightly. “Actually, yeah.” 

“ _ Everything? _ ” Clarke clarified, skeptical. 

“Everything,” Monty confirmed. “All the way down the list. We got everything.”

“Read it back to me.” 

Monty sighed. 

“ _ Monty-- _ ”

“Okay okay fine. We got a pack of gloves, IV bags and tubes, IV needles, hypodermic needles, tape, a ton more gauze, a scalpel, another thing of antiseptic, and then uh-- it wasn’t easy, but I  _ think  _ we found the medicine you asked for?”

“What did you grab?”

Miller walked closer to the radio, “It’s a little fucked up, but they were actually pretty well stocked with medical supplies. We grabbed--” he turned a small vial over in his hand-- “Clinda...mi--”

“--Clindamycin?” Clarke jumped in. 

“Yeah, that.”

“Good work, clindamycin doesn’t rely on optimal renal function to be effective as an antibiotic.”

“...Okay?”

Clarke sighed. “That’s good because Bellamy’s going to be losing a kidney but at least the antibiotics will still be working.” 

Understanding dawned over Miller’s expression. “Gotcha.”

Clarke continued on. “What kind of sedative did you find, Monty?”

“All we could find is ketamine. Does that work?” He looked hesitantly towards the radio, practically holding his breath. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” A pause. “Did you get the adrenaline?”

An icy silence fell over the room. Maya looked at the floor. 

“Uh, yeah,” Monty answered quietly. “We got the adrenaline.”

“Good,” Clarke said, clearing her throat roughly. “Remember, you only use that if--” she cleared her throat again-- “if his heart stops, okay?”

“Okay,” Maya repeated, staring at the tiny vial in Miller’s hands. 

“It’s just a precaution,” Clarke continued, mostly reassuring herself at this point. “Better safe than sorry, right?” 

“Right,” Monty nodded. 

Jasper glanced awkwardly at the piece of equipment in his arms. “Then what the hell is this?”

“Heart rate monitor,” Miller answered bluntly. 

“Wait, you  _ actually  _ found a heart rate monitor??” Clarke’s voice burst with a spray of radio static. 

Maya’s heart dropped to her knees.  _ There’s no way that they’re not going to notice a missing heart rate monitor…  _ “Where did you find that?”

Monty set the box of supplies on the ground and put his hands up disarmingly, “Okay, I know what you’re thinking, and no-- we didn’t steal it from the harvest chamber. It was just sitting in the supply closet so… we took it.” 

“Seriously?” Maya looked at Monty disbelievingly. 

Clarke jumped in sternly. “What’s the catch?” 

Monty sighed reluctantly. “It’s broken.”

“Oh great, so you got a broken heart rate monitor,” she said, weary sarcasm dripping from every word. 

“Well obviously I’m going to fix it--” Monty rolled his eyes-- “I think that there’s probably just a short-circuit somewhere in there or a blown fuse. Nothing too big.”

“And you can work around that?” Clarke perked up slightly, although still clinging to a fair amount of skepticism. 

Monty huffed a laugh. “Have you met me?” 

“We’re going to be counting on that, Monty. Without a working heart rate monitor we won't be able to monitor Bellamy’s vital signs.”

He nodded vigorously. “I know. I've got this.”

“Well, I guess we should get started then… right?” Maya said, looking between the boys.  _ I hope we’re ready for this… _

“Miller, you need to re-sterilize your hands,” Clarke ordered. 

“Well yeah,” he rolled his eyes, kneeling down next to Maya. “Obviously.”

“Just do it, okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I'm doing it,” he grumbled under his breath, holding out his hands for Maya to douse in the slippery antiseptic. 

She gave him a tight lipped smile.  _ Thank you. I can't do this alone. _ He returned it with a sharp nod then directed his gaze back towards Bellamy. 

“So,” he said, pulling a face. “Who’s making the first cut?” 

The silence that followed made Maya’s hair stand on end.  _ We actually have to cut him open. We have to take a scalpel, cut open a human being, and remove one of his organs.  _ A warm hand grasped her shoulder, pulling her out of her mental frenzie. She looked up to see Jasper giving a grim half smile, holding out the box of rubber gloves between her and Miller. 

“I’m sure as hell not doing it,” he shook his head, staring at Bellamy with wide eyes. 

“No shit, jackass,” Miller scoffed, snatching a pair of gloves from the box. “You’d probably throw up on him and then he’d  _ definitely  _ die.” 

“Yeah, please don’t do that,” Maya looked up at him, smiling weakly. 

He held out a pair of gloves to Maya and rolled his eyes at Miller. “Yeah, I know, it was a  _ joke _ . Humor? You’ve heard of it, right?”

“I gotta say, Jasper, you have incredible timing,” Miller hissed, snapping the band of his glove over his wrist. “You know that our friend is dying, right?” 

“Hey--” Maya cut him off sharply. “Bellamy is  _ not  _ dying. We’re not going to let that happen. And if you’re having doubts about that then I’d rather not have you assisting me.”

Monty and Jasper stared at Maya like she’d grown a second head. Miller stared at his hands. 

A hot flush crept up the back of Maya’s neck and she wiggled her hands into her gloves. “Positive thinking is important,” she mumbled. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea to let someone cut Bellamy open if they think he’s going to die.”

He looked up at her, expression cryptic. “You really think it’ll make that much of a difference?” 

At this point, Maya didn’t know what she believed anymore. In under a week her entire life had been turned upside down, leaving her kneeling in a pool of blood, prepping to cut open a real live human being. Wherever logic was in the universe, it wasn’t within the walls of their bunker, and it definitely wasn’t in that storage room. All Maya knew was that she had to believe. She had to believe that this would work. So she looked Miller dead in the eyes and lied: “Yes, I do.”

Miller gave a half smile and nodded once. “Well alright then, Bellamy’s going to live. But you’re doing the first cut.” 

Maya huffed a laugh. “Deal.”

A crackle came over the radio. “Glad we’re all on the same page now. Really, super reassuring Miller--”

“Sorry…”

Clarke continued on, pulling the room to attention at the sound of her voice. Calm, clear, and determined as all hell. “Before  _ anyone  _ cuts  _ anything _ you’re going to need to administer the antibiotics and the sedative. Even if Bellamy’s unconscious, the last thing we want is for him to wake up while you’re operating.”

“I can second that one,” Jasper huffed, locking eyes with Monty and pulling a face. Maya looked on curiously, putting a pin in the thought for later.  _ There’s a lot about that boy that I don’t know…  _

“Also, you said you got IV bags, right Monty?”

“Yep!” he called out from the corner where he sat amongst a tangle of wires, already having popped the front off of the broken heart rate monitor. “We got IV needles and the little tubes too,” he added, twisting together a set of copper wires. 

“Good,” Clarke said, clearly relieved. “Because I need someone to give Bellamy a blood transfusion. Otherwise, you won’t even make it halfway through the surgery before…” she trailed off, sighing heavily. “Bottom line is that he really needs a transfusion, okay?” 

“Makes sense,” Miller nodded. “But whose blood do we use?”

“I’d offer, but my blood would probably make him even worse,” Maya commented, taping an IV needle to its tube. 

“That, and you’re operating, Maya. We need you at your best. That means that you’re off-limits too, Miller,” Clarke added. 

Monty looked between them. “So that means it’s up to me or Jasper, right?” 

“I’ll do it,” Jasper stepped forward before anyone could protest. “I mean, you guys are operating, Monty’s fixing the heart rate monitor, it’s really the least I could do.”

“Are you sure?” Monty asked, concern creasing his brow. 

“Yeah,” Jasper huffed a laugh. “I’m sure. Now who wants to stab me in the arm before I change my mind?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Maya’s lips and she stood up, gesturing softly at Miller to stay seated. “I’ll do it,” she said, nodding her head towards the wall. “Go sit next to Monty. Sometimes transfusions can make you a little lightheaded,” she added, hating the fact that she knew. She knew so intimately that she didn’t even have to ask Clarke which vein to find in Jasper’s forearm or to tell him to look at the wall when she stuck the needle in and taped it flat. Blood, in one way or another, had been a part of Maya’s life since the day she was born and they fitted her chest with a tiny central line. She hadn’t had a day where she was free from its oppressive rule, and she feared that she’d die without knowing what it felt like to trust the blood that ran through her veins. 

She knew all too well. But she didn’t tell Jasper any of this, not as she adjusted the slowly filling blood bag by his side and certainly not when she pushed the loose strands of hair away from his forehead, pressing a gentle kiss to the soft skin it revealed. 

Jasper stared up at her, wide-eyed and smiled weakly. “Thanks,” he murmured, holding her gaze like he couldn’t bear to look away. 

“We should have enough blood in about twenty minutes, okay?” she said simply, returning his soft smile before turning back to the horrors that laid ahead. 

“Are you ready?” Clarke asked, voice palpably tense. 

“Just a second,” Maya said limply.  _ This can’t be happening yet. Is this really happening?  _ She looked back at Jasper for a moment. “We’ll be ready in just a second,” she repeated, then turned away and crouched next to Bellamy, opposite from where Miller kneeled, thumbing the pulse-point in Bellamy’s wrist. 

“It’s slow, but consistent,” he mumbled without looking up. 

“You gave him the antibiotic?” Maya asked, watching them. 

“Yeah. 600mL, right in the shoulder, just like Clarke said.”

“How about the sedative?”

He nodded grimly. “About a minute ago.” 

“So I guess this is really it then.”

“Looks like it.”

“Alright,” Maya nodded, speaking a little louder. “We’re ready, Clarke. Where do we start?”

 

* * *

The seconds ticked by at a snail’s pace. Every move Maya made seemed infinitely magnified, to the point that even her own breathing felt like a precursor to disaster. Each second felt like a lifetime. A lifetime filled with blood, silence, and so much pressure that she couldn’t even feel it anymore. 

Maya was pretty sure that something inside her broke when she made the first cut into Bellamy’s side and watched the deep red blood spill across his tan skin. Instead of nausea or horror or even surprise, the only thought that crossed her mind was:  _ Huh. There’s less blood than I expected.  _

Everything else seemed to float downhill from there in an unexpectedly simple manner. Conversations were kept to the bare minimum: medical instructions from Clarke and brief discussions between Maya and Miller on who should do what. Maya ultimately took on the lion’s share of the work ( _ why should two people be scarred instead of just one? _ ) while Miller acted as a genuinely invaluable assistant. He was practically an extension of Maya herself: handing off new tools before she even asked for them and completing Jasper’s blood donation without incident. 

She took things one step at a time. One cut after another. Inhale. Exhale. Listen to Clarke. Keep going. Keep moving forward. 

Time felt like a distant illusion. All Maya knew was that they were in an impossible race against a clock that they couldn’t see. The only indicator that they were still in the game was the ragged rise and fall of Bellamy’s chest, echoing softly in the dark storage room that encompassed the entire universe. 

After an unrecognizable amount of time, the dim ambience of the room was shattered by an awestruck declaration: “I think I’ve got it.” 

Maya looked up, tools frozen in Bellamy’s side, to see Monty sitting cross-legged across the room, hands hovering hesitantly over the heart-rate monitor. 

“Are you sure?” Clarke asked, voice slow and measured. 

Monty nodded briskly. “I'm sure. I had to take some wires and fuses from the S-P-O two reader-- whatever that is-- but we should still be able to see his heart rate, blood pressure, and his ECG. I hope that's fine--”

“That's fine--” Clarke cut him off-- “that’s  _ amazing _ . We don't need the SpO2 reader anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yes really. You did good, Monty.”

He let out a giant whoosh of air. “Oh thank god.”

“Looks like your genius has saved us yet again,” Jasper laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Monty huffed nervously, gathering up the leads and carrying the monitor towards Bellamy. “Let's set this thing up first and make sure it works--  _ then _ we can celebrate.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Always the cynic.”

“I'm just being realistic, Jas.”

“Clarke, is there anything I should be doing right now?” Maya cut in, hands still holding fast in their position. 

“Just keep holding the clamps steady, I’m going to have Miller attach the leads to Bellamy’s chest and then I want to get a reading of his vitals before we continue.” She paused for a moment. “The next step is a big one, so I want us to be ready.”

A chill ran down Maya’s spine. “Okay…”  _ One step at a time. One. Step. At. A. Time.  _ The clamps seemed to vibrate in her hands, but she held firm. 

Miller shot her a glance that seemed almost sympathetic, but instead of saying anything he just sighed and looked towards Monty, holding out his hands. “I’ll take that,” he said, gesturing towards the heart-rate monitor. 

“Yeah-- sure--” Monty said, shaking his head abruptly and thrusting the equipment into Miller’s grasp. 

Miller gave him a half smile, then set the monitor down by Bellamy’s side. “Alright, Clarke,” he said, clearing his throat roughly. “I have the heart-rate monitor. What do I do first?” 

“Okay, Miller. How many leads are there from the monitor?” she said, back in command. 

“Uh…” he fumbled briefly with the wires, counting and collecting the ends. “Six. Six leads.” 

“What colors are the ends?”

“Um… Metal colored?” 

“No--” she sighed irritatedly-- “I mean the plastic sticky things  _ around  _ the leads. What colors are those?” 

Understanding dawned over Miller’s expression. “Ah-- my bad. They’re… white, red, brown, green, yellow, and… black?” 

“Oh thank god…” Clarke mumbled under her breath. 

“What?” Maya looked up at the radio nervously. 

“No, nothing bad,” she reassured. “We have the right leads to make a 5-electrode system. That means we’ll be able to get an accurate reading.” 

“Oh…” Monty looked over at the monitor, expression slightly shaken. “If I had known that the leads were that important I wouldn’t have grabbed them at random like--” 

“Monty--” Clarke cut him off-- “It’s fine. This’ll work, okay?”

“Okay…” he murmured, still not looking entirely pleased with himself. 

“Anyway,” she continued, strong and determined. “Miller, the location of each lead is  _ very  _ important. I need you to put each one  _ exactly  _ where I tell you to, understand?” 

Miller nodded curtly. “Copy that.” 

“Okay. Good.” She let out a giant rush of air and paused for a moment. “White lead goes on the front of his right shoulder. Black lead goes on the left.” 

“Gotcha,” he said, wiping away the dried blood from Bellamy’s skin before sticking each lead in its respective spot. “What’s next?”

“The green lead goes right above his pant line, on his right hip bone. The red one goes in the exact same spot but on the left.”

“Lotta symmetry going on here,” he huffed, sticking the leads carefully above Bellamy’s waistband. “Where does the brown lead go?” 

“Right in the center of his chest, above his sternum.” 

“Alright--” he wiped the gauze down the stripe of Bellamy’s chest, then stuck the electrode dead in the center-- “That’s the last one?” 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Clarke confirmed. “All you have to do now is turn it on.” 

“And how do I do that, Monty?” Miller asked teasingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

“Right--” he jumped forward, leaning over Miller to poke a bundle of wires at the back of the monitor-- “Just connect the two twisted wires right here-- yeah-- the longest ones.” 

“And I just… touch ‘em together?” Miller pulled a face. 

“I mean it’d be better if you twisted them together so they don’t break apart, but essentially yeah.” 

“Gotcha,” he nodded, grabbing a wire in each hand. “Well, here goes--” 

An explosive pounding banged on the storage room door before Miller could turn on the monitor, making Maya’s heart leap up her throat. 

Everyone’s breath caught in their chest. 

“Mount Weather Security,” a loud voice boomed behind the door. “Open up, I know you’re in there.” 

Jasper jumped on the radio and plugged in the headset, effectively silencing the ambient static that echoed constantly throughout the tiny space. Maya and Miller were completely frozen, tools and wires held in their respective hands and jaws hanging wide open. 

“What do we do??” Maya whispered, panic rising in her chest.  _ If that guard comes in here and sees us then Bellamy’s dead. We’ll all be dead.  _

“I don’t know!!” Miller growled back, looking almost offended at her question. 

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Jasper hissed, slapping Miller in the shoulder. “He’ll hear us--”

Right on queue, the door pounded again, banging heavily against the deadbolt lock. “Open up!” the guard said, agitation picking at the edges of his voice. “Don’t make me break down the door!” 

_ We’re out of time. _

Monty stood abruptly and began undoing the top buttons of his polo shirt and mussing up his hair. He shimmied his pants loosely on his hips then rubbed his hands quickly over his cheeks, turning them a flushed pink, then strode towards the door. 

“Hey--” Miller shifted nervously in his seat-- “What the hell are you doing??” 

He stopped for a moment, fingers on the door handle, and looked back seriously. “Saving our asses.” Then he opened the door a crack and poked his head through, keeping the door firmly in place. “Hey-- hi-- sorry--” he said casually, sounding nearly out of breath-- “What can I do for ya?”

“What the hell are you doing in there?” the guard asked tiredly. 

“Oh…” Monty paused, shuffling in place. “Well…”

“Cut to the chase kid, I need to do a search--”

“ _ \--I don’t think that’s a good idea-- _ ” Monty cut him off, voice pitching up an octave. 

“And why’s that??” he asked suspiciously. 

“Um-- I’m--” Monty stammered-- “Look. I know that you have a job to do. I totally get that. But I’d  _ really  _ appreciate it if you’d give us some time to… finish up here.” 

“ _ Us? _ ” 

“Who is it, babe?” Miller called out suddenly, voice teasingly low. 

“Oh--” the guard started.

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, feigning embarrassment. “Yeah…”

“You know you can’t do that in there--” he said indignantly. 

“Come on…” Monty pleaded petulantly. “We  _ never  _ get any time alone anymore. We share a room with literally forty other kids.  _ That  _ is somewhere we can’t do this, if you catch my drift…”

“Yeah, I catch your drift,” he sighed irritatedly. 

“I feel like I’m going to freaking explode.”

“Oh my god--”

“I’m just saying-- if you gave us another hour, or two… or three… Let’s just say I’d really  _ really  _  appreciate it.” 

“Whatever-- fine--” the guard huffed. “You have the rest of the night. Just please-- for the love of god-- clean up when you’re done.”

“You’re the man.” Monty grinned. “It’ll be like we were never here!”

“You better hold yourself to that.”

“Don’t worry, he keeps me honest,” he gestured cheekily over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna go now…” the guard sighed. 

“Your loss!” Monty said, shutting the door in his face and turning the lock with a solid  _ clunk.  _

Everyone stared at him for a moment, completely awestruck as he walked across the room and sat heavily next to Jasper, then let out a giant whoosh of air and flopped his head into his hands. 

“Holy shit,” Jasper said, mouth hanging open. “Did you really just do that??” 

“I think I just crapped myself,” Monty groaned, threading his fingers into his hair. 

“Understandable,” Miller laughed, relaxing his arms on his thighs. 

_ I can’t believe that worked??  _ “Do you think he’s really going to leave us alone?” Maya asked, tension still sparking every nerve in her body. 

Monty huffed and grinned. “Yeah, I do. You should’ve seen his face, I doubt he’ll ever look me in the eye again.”

Jasper laughed out loud, clapping him on the back. “That’s my boy. I knew you had it in ya!” 

“Yeah, whatever that was…” Monty rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 

They basked in relieved silence for a moment before Jasper shot to his feet, eyes wide. “Fuck!” 

“What??” Panic shot up Maya’s spine. “ _ What is it?? _ ”

“I forgot to unplug Clarke!!” he said frantically, leaping forward and ripping the headset out of the radio. 

“ _ \--YOU SON OF A BITCH I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME I’LL BREAK DOWN THE GODDAMN DOORS TO MOUNT WEATHER MYSELF AND-- _ ” 

“Clarke!!” Jasper cut her off-- “Clarke we’re back holy shit we’re back I’m sorry.”

“ _ What the fuck happened??? _ ” 

“You didn’t hear  _ any  _ of that?” Miller asked disbelievingly. 

“No! One second you were about to turn on the heart-rate monitor then nothing! Radio silence! So I’ll ask you again: what the hell happened?” 

“A guard found us,” Maya answered bluntly.  _ No need to sugarcoat it.  _

“ _ What?? _ ” 

“It’s fine,” Monty placated. “He’s gone.” 

“What do you  _ mean  _ he’s gone? How the hell did you get him to leave when you literally have Bellamy open on the floor??” Clarke’s voice shifted from anger to horror to shock in mere seconds.  _ She’s going to give herself an aneurysm…  _

“Okay well first of all, I didn’t open the door all the way. I’m not an idiot--”

“Cut to the chase, Monty.”

“Right-- fine-- well, you see…” he trailed off, looking at the ceiling. 

“Monty pretended we were fucking,” Miller finished simply, sending a brilliant flush across Monty’s cheeks. 

“And that worked?” 

“He was pretty convincing,” Miller shot back, winking at Monty.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Clarke huffed. “But good job, Monty.”

“Uh… Thanks?” he scrubbed a hand through his hair, cheeks still ruddy with embarrassment. 

“Alright, now that I’m all caught up, can we hook up the heart-rate monitor already?” 

Maya rolled her eyes.  _ That’s Clarke for you. Always about business.  _

“Yeah-- sure--” Miller grabbed the wires of the monitor and twisted them together in one fluid motion. 

The screen lit up instantly and bright green numbers popped up in the right hand corner. A rhythmic  _ blip blip blip  _ sound echoed throughout the room and a jagged line drifted across the screen, rising and falling with each mechanical beep. 

A grin broke across Maya’s face. “It works,” she said, breathless. “It actually  _ works. _ ”

“Holy shit,” Monty said, equally surprised. 

Jasper smiled between them. “Like I said: genius.” 

“What does it say??” Clarke asked, frantic. “What’s his blood pressure? How many beats per minute is he at? Does his sinus rhythm look normal??” She rapid fired the questions so desperately that Maya could practically see her trying to claw her way through the radio so she could see the screen for herself. 

Maya squinted at the monitor. “Uhh… It says his B-P is 82 and 47. Is that okay?” 

“82 over 47,” Clarke muttered to herself. “Low, but it could be a lot worse. What about his heart rate?” 

Maya looked at the monitor again, scanning her gaze over the analog numbers. The words  _ heart rate  _ were nowhere to be found. “I’m not seeing--” 

“It’ll be right next to the letters B-P-M.” 

“Oh-- I see it now-- It says 45.” 

“Good. That’s pretty typical since he’s under anesthesia. How about his sinus rhythm?” Clarke continued on as if following a checklist. 

“I have literally no idea what that is,” Maya admitted bluntly. 

A ragged sigh came over the radio. “You know the little squiggly line?” she asked, voice pinched and restrained. “That’s his sinus rhythm-- how his heart is beating. And you can tell a lot about how someone is doing by their sinus rhythm if you know what to look for, but I can’t describe that over the radio.” 

“Oh…” Maya was struck yet again by the cold reality of their situation. It was a classic case of the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she felt as if she simply had to sit there and watch the world fall to pieces around her. No matter what she did, it couldn’t  _ ever  _ really be enough, could it? 

“Just… tell me if it looks uniform-- if the different heart beats all seem to look the same or not. Can you do that for me, Maya?” Clarke asked, voice far too soft and far too quiet. Not desperate. Not commanding. Just tired, in absolutely every single way possible. 

_ Keep trying. That’s what you’d want-- for someone to try until the bitter end.  _ She carefully inspected the sinus rhythm that floated across the monitor, looking for any discrepancies between the individual heart beats. All she saw was the same jagged peaks and valleys, one after another, rolling past like biological clockwork. She shook her head, trying to clear the buzzing in her ears. “Yeah,” she admitted. “They all look exactly the same.”  _ I think.  _

“Good,” Clarke said, still quiet. “Then we’ll move on to the next step.”

“Alright,” Maya agreed, trying to ignore the hard pit settling in her stomach.  _ Just stay calm and do what Clarke says.  _

“You might want to sit against the wall for this part, Jasper,” Clarke suggested suddenly. “You too, Monty.”

The two boys looked at each other with wide eyes then immediately walked over to the far wall without a single word. 

“Miller?”

“Yeah?” he answered, hesitant.

“Get the gauze ready. Lots of it.”

He swallowed thickly and began gathering the wads of cloth. “Okay.”

Maya felt herself pale considerably.  _ Nope, I’m not calm. Definitely not calm. This isn’t okay this is very very far from okay how the heck did I end up here oh my-- _

“Maya?” Clarke spoke softly, stopping her internal spiral. “You can do this. It’s going to seem a lot worse than it really is, but I  _ promise _ , it’s not a big deal. Just try not to focus on the blood, okay?” 

Maya hung her head limply and let out a ragged breath. “You should give pep talks,” she grumbled. 

“Yeah…” Clarke paused. “That’s always been Bellamy’s specialty,” she finished, sadness coating her words to the core. 

And for just a moment it was as if Maya could feel the pain emanating from every person in the room. Clarke’s heartbroken desperation. Miller’s reluctant grief. Jasper’s stubborn denial. And Monty’s cold sorrow. All of it crashed and tumbled around her, merely amplifying the molten terror she felt coursing through her veins. There was too much at stake for Maya to fail, but far too many variables to guarantee success. She felt like life had handed her a quarter and said: “Here. Flip this coin. Heads, I win. Tails, I win. Land it on the side and you win. Good luck.”

It wasn’t fair, but that was life. Maya knew that from the day her father sat her down and told her why the other children had mothers but she didn’t. Life wasn’t fair, but you still had to try. 

Maya exhaled softly and steadied her hands. “I’m ready, Clarke.”

“Okay,” she began, slow and steady. “Grab your scalpel. Miller, sit next to Maya with the gauze. He’s going to bleed a lot at this part.”

“Why?” Miller asked hesitantly, standing to move around Bellamy.

“Because you’re going to mop up the blood after Maya cuts into the retroperitoneal space,” Clarke answered simply. 

“No I get that--” he shook his head, plopping down at Maya’s side-- “But why is he going to bleed a lot? Are we cutting through an artery or something?”

“No-- god no-- He’d die if we did that.”

“Then what is it?” 

Clarke sighed again, something that was probably becoming a default reaction at this point. “Okay, you know how I said there’s internal bleeding?” 

“Yeah?” Maya answered for them, quiet. Waiting. 

“Well how much blood have you seen so far?”

Maya thought about that one for a second. She’d cut through skin and several layers of muscle, but each slice had yielded little more than a steady ooze from the respective incisions. “There’s been some bleeding, but not a crazy amount.” 

“ _ Exactly, _ ” Clarke said as if Maya had completely proven her point.

“Okay?”

“Where’s the blood, Maya?” she probed further, voice one notch away from being downright sinister. 

Maya looked deep into the open incision at what was supposedly the retroperitoneal space. What supposedly held the kidney.  _ And all of the blood.  _ “Right behind the next cut.”

“Yeah.”

Maya sighed, long and deep, letting her eyes squeeze shut.  _ Well, at least she warned you.  _ Then she opened her eyes, sat up straighter, and picked up the scalpel. “Where do I cut?”

“Okay, you know how I had you make a six inch incision across his side?” Clarke began. “I want you to cut from the top of that all the way to the bottom. Make the same cut through the retroperitoneum-- that’s what this next layer is.”

“Okay.”  _ Alright. Okay. This is happening. You can do this.  _

“And, Maya?”

“Yeah?” 

“The retroperitoneum isn’t very thick, so you need to be very careful that you  _ only  _ cut through that, and not anything beneath it. Just keep a shallow cut and  _ trust me _ \-- it’ll break apart on it’s own.”

“That’s reassuring…” Maya huffed, adjusting the scalpel in her hand. “Are you ready, Miller?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the incision.

“Yeah,” he said, waving a few pads of gauze loosely in the air. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” She nodded briskly, then pushed the scalpel into the thin film at the back of the gash in Bellamy’s side. A hot spray of blood shot up her arm, coating her skin in dark red. 

“Oh god--” Miller scrambled forward, thrusting a pad of gauze over the crimson geyser. 

Maya’s heart raced in her chest and a queasy feeling rose in her stomach, but she kept the scalpel moving, slow and steady. 

“Don’t stop cutting, Maya!” Clarke urged. 

“ _ I know, Clarke! _ ” Maya snapped, turning back toward Bellamy and trying desperately to ignore the sickening sensation of warm blood rolling down her neck. She held her hand steady, constant, slicing through the flimsy wall like it was nothing more than wet tissue paper. 

With one final swoop she finished the shallow incision and the wall burst open, flooding Bellamy’s side with a tidal wave of dark red blood. It splashed up over Maya’s skirt, coating her legs in the warm liquid with a gut-wrenching  _ splat.  _

“That was it, wasn’t it?” Clarke asked, quiet. 

“What happened?” Jasper called curiously from the wall. 

“Do  _ not  _ look, Jasper!” Maya jabbed a finger at him sternly, eyes still glued to the literal bloodbath in front of her. She let a terse breath hiss between her teeth and tried to shake her hair off of her neck. “Yeah, Clarke. That was definitely it.”

Miller silently handed her several pads of gauze then began soaking up the quickly spreading puddle of blood on the floor. 

“Wipe off Bellamy first,” Maya directed, still wound tightly as she patted the gauze along her thighs. “That way I can work on him while you clean up.” 

“Good thinking,” Clarke added on. “Time is of the essence.” 

“Gotcha.” Miller nodded, leaning forward to wipe the streams of blood off of Bellamy’s side. The gauze pads soaked through in mere seconds, but just this once it seemed like the constant blood flow had abated. With every wipe another strip of Bellamy’s skin was revealed, until finally there was just raw flesh surrounding the sharply cut surgical site. 

Maya eyed the giant mound of crimson stained gauze between them and choked back a wave of hilarious disbelief.  _ I can’t believe he’s still alive…  _ “Alright, Clarke,” she began wearily. “Bellamy’s cleaned off. I made the cut. Now what?” 

“Okay, Maya. I need you to reach into the incision and find the kidney. Can you do that for me?” Clarke asked, tension pulling her tighter with each passing minute. 

Maya rolled her eyes. “Well I’ve already gone this far… What should I use, the scalpel?” 

“No,” Clarke said hesitantly. “If you use the scalpel right now you might nick the inferior vena cava-- that’s a really big vein-- so… I’m going to need you to use your hands.” 

“Oh.” She paused, unable to feel anything, despite the growing ridiculousness of the situation.  _ Of course. That makes perfect sense.  _ “Anything else I need to know?” she asked numbly. 

Clarke jumped in readily like an anatomy textbook that hadn’t been opened in over a decade. “The kidney is roughly five inches long, three inches wide, and one inch deep. It should be a deep pink color right now, but if it’s died then it’ll be grey. But I think it should still have adequate blood flow right now since he’s been bleeding a lot…” she trailed off for a moment, as if trying to see things from a beginner’s perspective. “It’s shaped kind of like a bean and its center is connected to a few pretty big veins. I’m going to need you to find those veins once you locate the kidney so you can sew them shut before cutting.”

“Alright. I’m going to do that now,” Maya said, not allowing time to let the gravity of the situation fully hit her. Instead, she simply adjusted the latex gloves over her hands, then reached right into Bellamy’s side, feeling the squish of hot blood and flesh fold and twist around her fingers. 

She leaned forward and looked hard into the incision for something-- anything-- notable. Something that could be an organ, instead of just a mess of bright red gore that seemed more like a disgusting soup than the insides of a real live person. She carefully parted the incision with one hand while prodding inside with the other, feeling for inconsistencies in the open wound. After a few seconds of blind groping, her fingertips brushed against something slick and firm and her breath caught in her chest. 

“What is it?” Miller hissed over her shoulder. “Did you find it?” 

“I think so,” she mumbled, inching her fingers down deeper and deeper into the cavity, fighting the resistance of ligaments, tissues, and her own morality. The smooth object fell flat into the curve of her palm and she hooked her fingers behind it, securing her grip with the pinch of her thumb. “Yeah,” she said, breathless. “I definitely found it.” 

“Good,” Clarke breathed. “That’s good. Miller? I need you to help Maya during this part.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, shuffling up onto his knees. “What do you need me to do?” 

“You’re going to cut the ligaments holding the kidney in place so you can move it and see the veins,” she said simply, as if it were the easiest task in the world. As if she’d merely given him a grocery list or a reading assignment or practically any other task in the entire universe. 

“Right-- okay--” he shook his head, words stuttering slightly-- “Just one quick question?” 

“Of course.”

“What the hell does a ligament look like?” he asked, voice pitching up an octave. 

“Alright… Okay yeah… That’s a good question,” Clarke spoke slowly and carefully, words far too positive to be genuine. “A ligament is a white cord-like tissue that holds organs and bones in place. It looks pretty different from other kinds of tissues, and it’ll be connected right to the kidney. You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Okay…” Miller said, still not looking entirely convinced. “And I just… cut right through it? Like that?” 

“Yeah, ligaments have very little blood flow so you can just go for it,” she added, sounding slightly more confident. 

“Duly noted,” he huffed, picking up the scalpel and scooting to Maya’s side. “You ready for this?” he raised his eyebrows at her, hands up and prepped. 

Maya smiled dimly. “Born ready.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” he agreed quietly, expression dark. 

A sick feeling twisted in Maya’s stomach. Her gaze flickered downward and she adjusted her fingers on Bellamy’s kidney, pulling up on it ever so slightly. “Please just cut the ligaments so we can keep going,” she mumbled, refusing to make eye contact. 

“Yeah--” he said, reaching forward-- “Can you open the incision a little more? I can’t really see--”

“Sure.” She spread the wound open wider with her free hand and tilted back in her seat. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, immediately leaning in toward the incision with the scalpel. “Clarke, I’m seeing this weird white thing connected to whatever Maya’s holding. It looks about as wide as my finger, is that the ligament you’re talking about?”

“ _ Yes! _ ” Clarke burst out. “Yes-- that’s definitely it. Cut that.” 

“You got it.” He reached in, arm flexing briefly. 

Suddenly Maya felt the kidney in her hand release significantly, shifting and sliding around. “That was it, Miller,” she said incredulously. 

“It was?” He looked back, expression wide and toeing the edge of fearful. 

She nodded earnestly. 

“Oh thank god,” he breathed, plopping back down at her side. “That was freaking awful.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Maya chuckled, leaning back in to inspect the kidney’s new position. It twisted and lifted with barely any resistance, making things significantly easier on her end. 

“More like  _ you _ fooled  _ me _ ,” Miller huffed. “You’ve made this whole thing look so  _ easy _ .” 

“You sure know how to make a girl blush,” Maya teased, tilting the kidney backward. A thick bundle of red cords rose with the organ, piquing her interest.  _ Are those the veins Clarke was talking about?  _

“I mean it,” he said genuinely, placing his hand on her wrist. “You’re doing a good thing here, Maya.”

She paused, staring straight ahead. “Someone has to do it.” 

“No, they don’t,” he insisted. “But you are. So... thank you.” 

She looked back at him, pulling a tight-lipped smile. “You can thank me once Bellamy wakes up.” 

He nodded slowly, then cleared his throat, looking out at the radio. “Hey, Clarke?” 

“Yes, Miller,” she answered tiredly. 

“You mentioned something about Maya needing to sew some veins shut?” 

“Yes, Miller,” she repeated, tone nearly identical. 

_ Poor Clarke. This must be some sort of living hell for her.  _ “I think I found them,” Maya spoke up, keeping her fingers against the thick red bundle. 

“Is it connected to the middle of the kidney next to a sort of white tube that runs down the body?” Clarke recited, patient and mechanical. 

“Uh, yeah,” Maya said, checking the location of the bundle while answering. “What is that thing, by the way?” 

“It’s the ureter.”

“What’s a--”

Clarke cut her off. “Pee runs through it.”

“Ah.” Maya nodded, shooting Miller a look out of the corner of her eye. 

He shrugged then looked back at Bellamy. 

“I’m guessing I’ll sew that one shut next?” Maya probed carefully, looking sideways at the thick elastic tube that disappeared into the side of the cavity they’d opened. 

“Let’s focus on the task at hand, Maya,” Clarke groused. “But yes, you’ll be sewing that next.” 

_ Called it.  _ Maya nodded slowly and pulled a face, inspecting all angles of the pink-tinged organ.  _ Y’know, if this wasn’t a matter of life and death for all of us this might actually be kind of cool.  _

“Miller, prep the sutures and needle drivers,” Clarke directed. “Maya, I’m hoping to god that you have  _ some  _ vague understanding of sewing?” 

“Actually, yes. I do,” she said, a little too relieved by her knowledge of the skill. “I’ve made a few quilts for the senior center--”

“I don’t need details, Maya. I just need to know if you know how to do a backstitch and a whipstitch.” If Clarke had been unbelievably tense and strained when Maya initially found Bellamy, then she’d somehow simultaneously relaxed and devolved over the following hours of Maya playing medical rock-paper-scissors with fate. Maya didn’t blame Clarke for slowly falling apart with each passing minute-- she certainly couldn’t say she’d fare any better-- but it was still hard to bear witness to. It was impossible knowing that the only thing standing between Clarke and absolute irrevocable devastation was whatever meager surgical attempts Maya could manage. It was her, a scalpel, and sometimes Miller against the biological forces of nature. 

It seemed like they’d never be able to escape the little hell that had built around them, but Maya wasn’t sure she wanted to. Not when she knew how things might end. 

She cleared her throat and answered with a carefully positive tone. “Yeah, I can do a pretty good backstitch and whipstitch. Shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Good,” Clarke said, sounding mildly relieved. “Once Miller preps the sutures I want you to seal each vein with backstitches all the way across. Understand?” 

“Understood,” Maya parroted, separating the bundle of veins with her fingertips.  _ Well, Maya. You might not know how to perform surgery, but at least your quilt-making skills are coming in handy.  _

“Here--” Miller held out a curved needle with a long suture tied at the end-- “I’m hoping this’ll work?” 

“Yeah, it’s great.” Maya took the needle without further probing and immediately launched into tying the end of the suture through the first vein with a twist of her wrist.  _ This isn’t a person. Don’t think about it. It’s just sewing.  _ She let out a shaky breath when the suture knotted securely, then began tugging the needle through the vein, making even and practiced stitches through the thick tube. Aim. Stitch. Tighten. Again and again and again. With each new puncture the vein cinched further shut until eventually it closed so perfectly that it looked merely as if an invisible clip had squished it flat. After taking one last look to inspect her handiwork, Maya tied off the suture and cut the excess wire with the scalpel. 

“Holy shit,” Miller said, awestruck. 

“What?” Maya and Clarke asked in unison. 

“Did something happen?” Jasper called out from the wall, Monty peering over his shoulder with wide eyes. 

“Jasper, I love you, but  _ please _ don’t come over here,” Maya said sternly, heart speeding up in her chest when she realized what she’d just said.  _ Crap--  _

He stared at her, jaw hanging open, then shuffled back against the wall. “Okay,” he mumbled, eyes glued to hers. 

“Um…” Words fumbled through her brain, refusing to form a coherent sentence.  _ Later. You can focus on this later.  _ She let out an irritated breath then looked back at Miller. “What did I do?” 

“Nothing.” He shook his head wildly, looking at her with a curious expression.

“Then why did you say that??” Clarke asked for the both of them, so far past being patient. “You  _ do _ realize that I can’t see what’s going on so when you say  _ “Holy shit”  _ I’m going to assume that something went wrong, Miller. And I thought I made myself pretty freaking clear when I said that--” 

“She just has a really good backstitch!” He put up his hands defensively. “I was impressed, okay?”

Maya looked at him for a moment, at a loss. Eventually a sarcastic smile poked at the corners of her lips and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I need to make you sit against the wall too, Miller?” 

“No,” he scoffed, pulling a face. 

“Alright,” she agreed, turning back toward Bellamy. “Clarke? I’m going to sew the next vein now, okay?” 

“Thank you, Maya,” Clarke said, low and exhausted. “We’re in the home stretch but I just can’t relax until we’re done,” she admitted tiredly. “I just want this to be over.”

“It will be,” Maya said softly, beginning on the next vein with tiny measured stitches. “Like you said: home stretch. Also I’m a fantastic seamstress, so we have that going for us.”

That brought a small laugh from Clarke. “Oh thank god,” she huffed sarcastically. 

“I always knew it’d come in handy someday,” she added.  _ Just not like this.  _ The act of sewing each vein was hilariously simple for Maya. She’d been sewing since she’d torn the arm of her favorite stuffed animal at six years old: it was practically second nature at this point. The twist of her wrist and adjustment of the needle with each stitch was left entirely up to second nature. Maya tried not to let the ease of the situation bother her, but she still couldn’t shake the cold chill running down her spine.  _ Sewing up people shouldn’t be this easy…  _ In just a few seconds she had the small tube sealed shut and the suture finished. “Alright, Clarke. I’m done with that.”

“Now you cut the veins, then seal them with a whipstitch-- just to be safe,” Clarke justified, as if Maya would try to argue her logic. 

“Gotcha.” She nodded, picking up the scalpel and slicing the veins a half-inch from the fresh sutures. A small spill of blood fell out of the cut veins, but it didn’t even phase Maya. With every cut she made in Bellamy’s body, the act of technical mutilation got easier and easier. She hardly noticed the catch in her chest anymore when she adjusted the knife in her grip, feeling the cool metal through her bloodstained glove. 

She grabbed the needle and sutures next and carefully closed the ends of the loose veins with a tightly wound whipstitch. The kidney laid in the base of the body cavity now, still largely covered by miscellaneous gore and tissue, but almost entirely disconnected from the cavity itself. A tiny thrill ran through Maya’s chest.  _ We’re almost done. This is it. The last part.  _ “Now the ureter?” she asked, soft.  _ Please let this be it.  _

“Yeah. Just do the same thing there that you did with the veins, okay?” Clarke said, just as quietly but incredibly far from being soft. At this point her words were beyond ragged, as if she’d been dragged through a plane of broken glass and dirty gravel. Maya distantly realized that emotionally, she had been. 

“Okay. I’ll do that,” she murmured, picking at the ureter and starting the process all over again. Attach the sutures. Backstitch. Tie off the sutures. Cut the ureter. Seal with a whipstitch. 

It was over in minutes. 

Maya sat there for a moment before it hit her.  _ I think I can take out the kidney now.  _ “Clarke?” she asked, voice shaking slightly. “Can I take the kidney out now?”

Clarke let out a ragged breath, and with it hours of built up tension. “If you did everything correctly then yes, you should be able to take the kidney out,” she said, cryptic and hesitant. 

“I’m going to try that now, is that okay?” Maya probed.  _ Just give me permission, Clarke. I know you’re nervous but let me know that this won’t kill him.  _

“Okay,” Clarke said, voice still incredibly strained. “Yeah-- that’s fine--” she amended. “Just do it.” 

_ And that’s all the permission I need.  _ Maya reached carefully into the surgical site, cupping her hands under the small mass. She lifted slowly, raising the little pink organ from the mess of blood that coated it, waiting for a catch. A snag. Some sign that she’d screwed up and the kidney was still attached to Bellamy and Maya was trying to rip it from his side like the monster she truly was. 

But it never happened. Her hands rose out of the wound without incident, cradling the dripping kidney like an infant lifeline. Her breath stopped when she finally got a look at the little pink organ. 

It was exactly as Clarke had described with one glaring difference: a large bullet hole had torn straight through its center, severely damaging the structure and leaving its veins in shambles. Blood still dripped from the wound, despite the fact that it was no longer attached to its owner. 

Maya’s mouth hung open as she stared at the organ in her palms.  _ Clarke was right.  _ “It’s out,” she murmured, unable to tear her gaze away from the pink mass that was slowly fading to a cool grey. “The kidney’s out, Clarke,” she repeated.

Clarke’s breath caught audibly. “And?” she asked, voice shaking. 

“You were right,” Maya said, awestruck. “He was shot in the kidney. There’s a bullet hole right through it.”

“Oh…” Clarke trailed off, palpable emotion seeping from the solitary word. “Oh god--” she choked off a tiny sob, and for a moment Maya wished that Clarke weren’t alone on the other side of the radio. “Thank you--” she forced the words out, unsuccessfully trying to hide the sound of her tears. “You have no idea…” she broke off again and a pang shot through Maya’s chest. 

“I’m happy to help, Clarke,” Maya said softly. And she was. Granted, she would’ve preferred that Bellamy had never been shot in the first place, but she wasn’t exactly alone in that desire either. “Should I sew him up now?” she asked, setting the kidney down on the cool concrete floor. 

“Yeah, yeah I’ll walk you through that,” Clarke said, voice still choked but clearing up slightly. 

Maya nodded to herself and turned to the side to pick up her sutures again, only to see Miller looking between her and the kidney, mouth hanging wide open. She shrugged casually. “Where else am I going to put it?”

He barked out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

“Alright, Clarke,” Maya said, right on the edge of a smile. “I’m ready. What do I do first?” 

 

* * *

The act of closing Bellamy up proved significantly easier than opening him up, but that didn’t surprise Maya. What  _ did  _ surprise her was the specificity and thoroughness that Clarke brought to such a simple action. (After all, they were just putting him back together, right?) For every single step Clarke knew  _ exactly  _ what stitch, order, and method she wanted her to use. It was beyond tedious, but Maya still followed Clarke’s instructions to the letter.  _ We wouldn’t have made it this far without Clarke. Do what she says.  _

Maya’s hands cramped more and more with each layer she closed, but she refused to compromise the integrity of her stitches.  _ This is important.  _ Her wrist pinched. She adjusted the needle between her fingers.  _ You can’t slack on this.  _ The sutures tangled. She made up new ones.  _ You’re almost done.  _ Her fingers went numb.  _ You’re almost done.  _

While Maya worked on Bellamy, Miller kept an eye on the heart rate monitor, intermittently reporting the numbers back to Clarke. As the minutes flew by the numbers dropped lower. His heart rate slowed. His blood pressure dipped. And while Maya might not have known what the cut-off criteria was for healthy readings, she was sure of one thing: this wasn’t good. 

Clarke’s growing silence only confirmed her suspicions. Her initially lengthy instructions grew shorter and shorter, until eventually she’d merely tell Maya to “sew the next part up.” 

Eventually Maya realized why Clarke had stopped talking altogether: she was listening to the heart rate monitor. To the steady  _ blip blip blip  _ of Bellamy’s heartbeat-- the only indication she had left that he was still alive and on this earth. Because while Clarke couldn’t see him, couldn’t touch him, feel him, let him know that everything was going to be okay-- she’d make sure of it-- she could still hear his heart pumping the blood through his veins, keeping him alive. 

The realization broke Maya’s heart. She couldn’t imagine being so far from someone she loved in a situation like this, but still so painfully close. Clarke had orchestrated the entire surgery to save Bellamy’s life, but she was still miles away.  _ She might as well be on another planet.  _

Hands shaking, Maya finished the last suture in Bellamy’s side, sealing the ghastly incision that split his tanned skin. She set the curved, blood tinged needle on the ground with a soft clatter and stretched out her fingers. “I’m done, Clarke,” she said, far too exhausted to be victorious. 

“Can we  _ please  _ come over now?” Jasper practically whined from his corner. “It’s been literally hours.” 

“Yeah,” Maya huffed, smiling softly. “That’s fine, Jasper.”

The two boys stood slowly, testing their legs. 

“So that’s really it?” Monty asked, walking over, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s done?”

“Looks like it,” Miller gave him a tired half-smile. “Mission successful.”

Jasper shook his head disbelievingly. “I still can’t believe--  _ please tell me that’s not his kidney on the floor-- _ ” he turned away abruptly, hand clapped over his eyes. 

Maya looked down at the forgotten greyed organ. “We probably should’ve done something with that,” she said casually to Miller. 

He shrugged simply. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I hate you Miller,” Jasper grumbled, facing the wall again. 

“Hey, your girlfriend put it there,” Miller insisted. 

“Don’t care-- still hate you.”

“Oh that’s totally fair.”

“Clarke?” Monty asked, noticeably concerned. “What’s wrong? You haven’t been talking since Maya finished closing Bellamy up.” 

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured, more to herself. 

“Again?” Maya asked.  _ Oh crap, did I do something wrong? What did I do??  _

“Well what’s wrong?” Monty probed carefully. “We found the source of the bleeding, right?” 

“No, you did,” she answered dismissively. “It’s his vitals. They’re too low.” 

“What do you mean?” Miller asked. “Did he lose too much blood or something?”

Maya’s heart sank.  _ All this and it’s still not over.  _

“No, no, we did a transfusion, remember?” she said, voice picking up in speed. “We did everything we could, but his bp is still far below the safety range and his heart rate is unbelievably slow. I just… I’m not comfortable with it.” 

“Maybe we should just wait it out?” Miller suggested, folding his arms across his chest. 

Before she could answer, a rapid beeping came from the heart rate monitor and the regular sinus rhythm turned into a jagged pulsing line. 

_ Oh god what’s happening??  _ Maya sat up urgently, heart racing. “Clarke-- Clarke something’s wrong--”

“Explain the monitor to me--  _ now-- _ ” Clarke demanded frantically. “What do you see Maya??” 

“The line-- the sinus rhythm-- it’s all jagged and-- and I can’t see any regular pattern--”

“ _ Fuck!! _ ” 

“Clarke!” Maya urged. “ _ Tell me what to do! _ ” 

“He’s in v-fib-- his heart is trembling and can’t pump blood!” she stammered desperately. “You have to shock him!” 

_ This can’t be happening.  _ “Miller!” Maya shouted, panic taking hold in her chest. “Miller where’s the shock--” 

“I got it!” he growled, pushing her aside and dropping to his knees at Bellamy’s side, jabbing the baton into the center of his sternum and zapping him with a massive jolt of electricity. 

Bellamy spasmed in place and the monitor spiked. 

Maya held her breath. 

His heart rate fell back into chaos. 

“Clarke--” she said again, voice trembling. “It didn’t help!” 

“I did it--” Miller insisted, mouth hanging open-- “I swear to god I shocked him--”

“ _ Again! _ ” Clarke bellowed, shaking the room with the intensity of her command. 

Miller shot forward and shocked him again. The electric blast echoed throughout the room. The monitor spiked. 

Then the line fell flat. 

The beeping stopped.

And all that remained was a solid high-pitched tone from the monitor. 

_ Oh god-- _

“No-- No no no no--” Clarke stammered, voice shaking-- “No this can’t be happening--”

“Oh god!” Miller sputtered, horrified. “Oh god I killed him!!” 

“What did you do??” Jasper ran forward, paling significantly. “Miller what the hell did you do?!” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!!” he stammered, mouth hanging open. “I don’t know what I did!” 

“Maya!” Clarke snapped, throwing the room into silence. “Grab the adrenaline-- now!!”

_ The adrenaline--  _ “Got it--” Maya grabbed the tiny vial, drew the liquid up into the hypodermic needle, then jabbed it into Bellamy’s arm without hesitation, injecting the contents into his veins in one fluid motion. “What do I do now??” she asked frantically, hovering her hands over his still body. 

“Chest compressions-- like CPR, Maya-- do it now!!” her voice shook audibly over the horrible sound of the flatline from the monitor. 

Maya clasped her hands together and pressed firmly into Bellamy’s chest.  _ One. Two. Three.  _ His ribs rose and fell with the movement.  _ Seven. Eight. Nine.  _ His head jostled slightly, hair tossing over his closed eyes.  _ Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.  _ The flat tone rang between her ears.  _ Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.  _ Everyone paced around her, but Maya could barely see them.  _ Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.  _ Maya sat back, breathing heavily, and waited for his heart rate to return. For the horrible tone to fade and be replaced by the rhythmic  _ blip blip blip  _ that meant that Bellamy was still alive. That the world hadn’t lost him. 

It didn’t happen. 

Bellamy’s heart didn’t magically start beating again. 

His eyes didn’t blink open, confused and hazy but unmistakably  _ alive.  _

He didn’t sit up, brush the hair out of his eyes, and crack a joke about needing better armor. 

He just laid there, perfectly still, while the monitor blared out a solitary tone that could only mean one thing: 

Bellamy Blake is dead. 

“ _ NO!!! _ ” Clarke screamed, rattling the storage room with unbelievable grief and devastation. “No no no no no--” she broke off, hyperventilating so badly that she couldn’t even cry. “Please god no!!” she choked out, voice catching. “ No no please, please no… please…” her pleas dissolved into gut wrenching sobs

Horror descended over Maya.  _ I failed. He’s dead. Bellamy is dead.  _

Jasper clapped a hand over his mouth and openly sobbed, shaking his head raggedly. Tears filled Monty’s eyes as he stood frozen, unable to look away from Bellamy’s still form. And Miller simply stared straight ahead, mouth hanging open. But Maya could see something deep breaking inside of him. Something that could never be fixed. 

_ I’m so sorry… Oh god I’m so sorry…  _ Tears pricked at the back of Maya’s throat as she looked between all of them, Clarke’s sobs and pleas rattling throughout the room. 

This was it. Bellamy’s story had ended. Clarke, Monty, Miller, and Jasper-- they all had done  _ everything  _ they could. And they did it beautifully. Perfectly, even. 

But it wasn’t enough. For all their effort and ingenious plans and desperate maneuvers, Bellamy had still spiraled downward, vitals sinking and heart failing. Because at the end of the day? It was all too much. The trauma done on his body was too much to come back from, and in the end all it had done was briefly drag out false hope. 

_ We went too far…  _

“Please, god--” Clarke sobbed roughly, verging on hysteria-- “he can’t die like this he just can’t…” her voice trailed out, cracking and breaking to pieces. “He deserves so much better than this… He-- he deserves to live…” 

Maya hung her head, squeezing the needle of adrenaline so hard it nearly shattered.  _ Some back up plan you were--  _ Hot grief boiled in her chest, and she held back a sob, face twisting as she turned the plunger between her fingers. 

“Clarke--” Monty said roughly, voice breaking. Maya distantly realized that tears were running down his cheeks. “Clarke, I’m so sorry…” 

Clarke didn’t answer. There wasn’t an apology in the world that could make up for this kind of loss, for coming  _ this close  _ to succeeding then watching the person you love slip right off the face of the earth and being completely unable to stop it. 

Maya pressed the plunger of the needle absently, stopping suddenly when a stream of adrenaline sprayed across her wrist.  _ There’s still some left??  _

She held the needle in her hand, and considered her options:

  1. Let Bellamy stay dead.
  2. Inject Bellamy with the remainder of the adrenaline and do chest compressions until either he came back or her arms gave out. 



In the end, it wasn’t really a decision at all.

She leaned forward quickly, jabbing the needle expertly into Bellamy’s arm and pushing the plunger down flush. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Miller questioned, voice rougher than sandpaper. 

Maya gripped her hands together a second time and positioned them dead center in Bellamy’s chest. “I’m trying,” she growled out, then began compressions once again, pushing like her life depended on it. 

Like Bellamy’s life depended on it.

_ One. Two. Three. Four. _

Jasper and Monty stared at her in shock.

_ Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.  _

“Maya…” Jasper began hesitantly, tears pinching his words. “Maya, what are you doing.”

_ Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.  _

Maya ignored him. She squared her shoulders and kept the compressions rolling.

_ Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-six.  _

Maya passed the standard amount of chest compressions for a single round of CPR. She didn’t care.

_ Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-eight.  _

Her shoulders cramped. Her wrists clicked. But the sobbing behind the radio had dwindled to a confused sniffling. She kept pushing. 

_ Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Fifty-- _

A  _ blip  _ popped up on the monitor. Maya’s jaw dropped.  _ Was that really--  _ she started pushing again, firmly and rhythmically. 

Another  _ blip.  _ Then another, and another. Maya sat back on her heels, hands hovering over Bellamy’s chest as she stared at the monitor in shock.

A rhythmic  _ blip blip blip  _ drifted across the screen. Slow. Steady. Weak, but absolutely undeniably real. 

“No way…” Miller breathed, mouth hanging open. 

Maya leaned forward shakily and pressed an ear to Bellamy’s chest. A soft pounding  _ thump thump thump  _ rolled through her. And she knew for sure. 

_ He’s alive. He’s actually alive.  _

“Maya, oh my god!” Jasper flew forward, squeezing her in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and exhaled shakily.  _ It’s over. It’s finally over.  _ “You did it,” he whispered. “You really did it.” 

“He’s alive,” Clarke said numbly. “Bellamy’s alive.”

“Yeah.” Miller nodded, unable to stop the smile that broke across his face, despite the tears in his eyes. “Yeah, Clarke. He’s really alive. Maya brought him back.” 

“What’s his heart rate and blood pressure,” she pushed, unwilling to fall back into false hope. 

“It’s um… 70 beats per minute aaaaand…. 105 over 70 for the blood pressure,” Miller answered, carefully inspecting the monitor. 

“You promise?” she asked, voice shaking. “Promise me that’s the real numbers?”

“I promise you, Clarke. This is real. Bellamy’s alive.” 

The declaration rolled throughout the room. And for a moment, they all just stood there, dumbstruck, unable to believe that just this once, luck had been on their side. 

They had fought biology, fate, and even death, and somehow they’d come out on the other side. They’d won. 

Monty asked the question for all of them. “Now what?” 

“Now…” Clarke sighed, exhausted and worn out to the core. “Now we wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to Eden (sassybellamyblake) for being my best friend and also dealing with all of my writing problems day or night (because she pretty much never sleeps lol) I definitely couldn't have finished this chapter without her!!! <3
> 
> I'd also like to thank Miranda (drelllassassin) and Steph (bellamyaugustus) for letting me throw my rough drafts at them!! Seriously, you guys are freaking awesome!!!
> 
> I'd also also like to thank Rockstar energy drinks because they directly contributed to me writing a ridiculous amount in the last two days and being able to get this fic up sooner than later. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented, subscribed, left kudos, and read this work! You are all _amazing_ and I love you to pieces!!
> 
> As usual, I am sooooo sorry this took so long!! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this (slightly less dramatic than the previous chapters but hopefully still interesting) chapter! :)

“Alright, keep me updated, Maya,” Clarke spoke into the transmitter, calm and measured, wrapping up the final details for Bellamy’s postoperative care.

“Of course,” Maya answered simply. Always simply. A strange mix of humbleness and appreciation rolled down Clarke’s spine. _I couldn't have done this without her._

“Maya--” she lurched forward in her seat, gripping the transmitter with both hands.

She answered almost instantly. “What is it-- is something wrong?”

Clarke sighed loosely, shaking her head. “No, no nothing like that. Just… thank you.” She paused for a moment. “For everything.”

“I'm happy to help, Clarke.”

“No-- I mean it-- _thank you,_ ” she pushed, trying to get even a fraction of her appreciation across. Maya had _literally_ brought Bellamy back to life, among performing several other medical interventions that had made the difference between a world where Bellamy was alive and one where he was lying cold and dead on the storage room floor.

Words would never be enough. _But something else might be._

An idea sparked in the back of Clarke’s mind. “Anyway--” she cleared her throat, shuffling in her seat-- “I have a few things to take care of. Again-- keep me posted on how he's doing and if _anything_ goes wrong don't hesitate to--”

“I know I know,” Maya cut her off, tired humor poking behind her words. “I'll radio back if anything happens. You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

There was a couple seconds of pause between them. And for a brief moment, it almost felt like they were friends-- or whatever you’d call two near-strangers who put their lives on the line to save the other.

 _Maya’s done more than her part. Now it’s my turn._ “I’ll be back in three hours. Keep Bellamy hydrated,” she signed off, clicking the transmitter in place at the radio’s side.

And with that she stood from the engineering table for the first time in four hours, stretched her legs, and left the room behind. As infinite as that piece of time had felt, it was over. Bellamy was _alive._ They’d won.

But Clarke’s job wasn’t done yet.

She strode down the dim metal hallway towards the central quad of Camp Jaha, straightening her arms across her chest and rolling her neck against the tension that had built there. She could barely process the sheer magnitude of the past few hours. Quite literally, she had loved, lost, and then regained her love all within one radio conversation.

 _How am I even supposed to feel about that?_ All she felt was tired and cloudy. It was as if her insides were misted and fogged up, to where she couldn’t identify a single one of her feelings. It was different from feeling empty-- she certainly felt _something_ in there-- but there was too much rattling around to discern one emotion from another.

So Clarke decided that she felt tired. However, she was never one to let something as simple as fatigue stop her, so she kept moving forward. There were things that needed to be done, and she wouldn’t rest until every last plan was set into motion. And even then she’d probably stick around a little while longer, just to keep an eye on things.

Such was life.

Clarke’s mind was in a million different places at once, but they all converged at one single task: _I need to call a Council Meeting. Now._

She stepped out of the cool hallway of the Ark into the dusty quad, sunlight toasting her skin and the hot smell of pine needles flooding her nose. The sensation was almost foreign; she’d been in the confines of the Engineering Room for so long that it felt like another lifetime in itself.

She wished Bellamy could be there with her, feeling the sunlight on his skin and watching the few children that had survived the crash-landing on the ground play among scattered tufts of grass and whack each other with sticks. She smiled to herself as a small girl swung a large pine branch so hard she nearly knocked herself into the dirt. _Ten credits says Bellamy would have a story about Octavia just like that one._

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, a pair of strong hands were shoving her forcefully backwards, causing her head to bounce off the solid metal wall of the Ark.

She stumbled on her feet, rubbing a hand against her head. “What the--”

“Who the hell do you think you are??” Octavia strode into her view, Grounder makeup clouding her already dark expression.

 _Oh god, Octavia--_ “Look, you don’t know the whole story,” Clarke started, putting her hands up defensively.

Octavia laughed scornfully. “Don’t I? Clarke Griffin once again thinks that it’s her _birthright_ to make decisions for everyone! How’s that sound?”

 _How did she even find out??_ “Octavia, I would’ve told you, but there wasn’t time--”

“There wasn’t _time_?”

“I had to make a decision so I did!”

That one seemed to strike a nerve, and a hot fire lit behind Octavia’s eyes as she stepped even closer to Clarke. “You can’t just do that! You need to _talk_ to people about these things!”

“ _He’s alive, okay!_ ” Clarke burst out suddenly, words echoing against the hard metal of the Ark.

Octavia stopped dead in her tracks. “What are you talking about?”

 _Oh god, I don’t think she knows._ “What are _you_ talking about?” she retorted artfully, shuffling in place.

“I came here to ask why the hell you thought it was okay to skip the meeting with Lexa and the Twelve Clans,” she said blankly, staring her down as if she were piecing together a puzzle.

Clarke’s mouth hung open. _Oh god oh god she really didn’t know--_

“Clarke, what are you talking about?” she said again, voice deadly quiet. A barely audible tremble shook behind her words but her gaze held firm.

“Oh god, okay,” she began, rubbing her hands over her face for a moment. _Where do I even begin?_

“What happened to Bellamy?” Octavia growled, low and threatening. Clarke knew it was merely a front-- an act to cover up the fact that she was terrified-- but that only made breaking the news even harder.

She let out a deep breath and squared herself off. _Do it fast. Like ripping off a bandaid._ “Bellamy got shot. He’s fine-- well-- he’s going to be fine--” she continued before Octavia could protest, mouth hanging open-- “We had to remove his kidney, but he’s stable. He should make a full recovery,” she finished, tacking on the last sentence with practiced delivery, despite the fact that it was dangerously close to a lie. Clarke had no idea if Bellamy would ever wake up, much less recover. _Octavia doesn’t need to know that. It’ll only hurt her._

Octavia stood there for a moment, arms hanging limply at her sides and a million thoughts running behind her eyes. Then she shook her head and looked back, brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait-- you removed his _kidney_ ?” Her voice shot up an octave and a scandalized expression hit her face as she blinked in surprise and anger. “Why the _fuck_ would you remove his _kidney_??”

Clarke paused for a moment, trying to think of an explanation that would appease Octavia without fully explaining just how close her brother had come to dying. Or the fact that he’d _actually_ died for about a minute. _God this has been the worst fucking day._ “We just-- we had to, okay? He was bleeding too much so the kidney had to go.”

A pang of sympathy hit Clarke as Octavia squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply for a moment, as if she were trying to calm herself down. _God I wish I could’ve told her in a better way._

“Octavia--” Clarke reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder--

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Octavia shouted, ripping her arm back angrily. “This-- all of this--” she waved an arm out to the side, her breath heaving and catching-- “I just--” she turned away suddenly, facing the wall of the Ark and placing her hands firmly on her hips, head tilted towards the sky.

Clarke just stood there, completely at a loss for what to do. She’d never seen Octavia so distraught before and had no idea how to make up for what had happened to Bellamy. Or if she could _ever_ fully atone for what had happened in the past few hours. Maybe it was just another event to add to the growing list of reasons why she couldn’t sleep at night-- why looking into a mirror was just a little bit harder than it was a year prior.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, voice threatening to leave altogether.

Octavia just stood there, deadly silent, hand pressed to her eyes and back facing Clarke.

She tried again, stepping a little closer, tears clouding the edges of her vision. “I’m so so sorry, Octavia--”

Octavia whipped around, punching Clarke in the face so hard she was knocked straight onto her ass in the dirt. “You’re _sorry???_ ” she screamed, standing over her, tear tracks running through the makeup creased around her eyes. “Like I give a fuck if you’re sorry!! Bellamy might be dying and you’re sorry??”

Clarke just sat there, hand held to her cheek and eyes locked with Octavia’s.

“ _This is your fault!!_ ” Her voice cracked with the beginnings of a sob, but she pushed it down with a deep breath and a frown. “ _You_ sent Bellamy to Mount Weather. This is _your_ fault,” she said again, calmer and infinitely more deadly. She started walking forward, chest heaving with a heartbreaking mix of anguish and rage, but was stopped by a hand on her wrist.

“Hey-- Octavia, _hey_ \--” Raven pulled Octavia back, turning her around and holding her by the shoulders-- “You need to stop,” she said firmly.

“ _I_ need to stop?” Octavia burst out, fighting against Raven’s grip. “Do you have _any_ idea what she did??”

Clarke stared at them in surprise, then pushed herself to her feet and brushed off her pants before the opportunity passed.

Raven’s expression clouded for a moment, but she didn’t break eye contact with Octavia. “No, I know what happened. I was there when we found out,” she admitted.

“ _You knew?_ ”

“No, hey--” she held her firmly in place-- “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t tell anyone, okay? ”

“No, it’s not okay!” Octavia said, finally ripping her arms out of Raven’s grip. “None of this is fucking okay! Bellamy could’ve _died_! How is that okay??”

Raven looked at Clarke out of the corner of her eye, cautiously hopeful expression on her face.

Clarke nodded in affirmation. _Yeah, Bellamy made it. He’s alive._

The tiniest ghost of a smile crossed Raven’s face before she turned back to Octavia. “Take a walk,” she ordered, raising her eyebrows.

“What??”

“I’m serious, go take a walk. Get this out. Slash a tree or some shit.”

A scowl twisted Octavia’s face, but her eyes flicked between Raven and the camp’s gates as she shuffled on her feet. “Fine,” she eventually growled, breath stuttering slightly as she refused to drop her frown.

Raven nodded, crossing her arms.

Octavia turned to leave, then stopped, tossing her glare towards Clarke. “If Bellamy dies, you die,” she said, low. Deadly. “That’s a promise.”

Clarke stood there, mouth hanging open, but Octavia stalked away before a single word could come out. And then she was gone, striding around the corner of the Ark and disappearing completely.

Clarke let out a deep breath and relaxed her head backwards, shutting her eyes and rubbing a hand across her cheek. “Well _that_ could’ve gone better,” she muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, no kidding. I heard that from all the way across camp. Are you okay?” Raven shuffled closer, concern creasing her brow.

“I’m fine,” Clarke said dismissively.

Raven huffed a short laugh. “You know you’re bleeding, right?”

“I am?” She pulled her fingers away from her cheek to find the tips of them tinted a slight red. _Blood._ Suddenly she remembered the sound of Bellamy’s blood splashing onto the concrete floor. Bellamy screaming as he tried to take the bullet out with his own hands. The high tone of him flat-lining.

Her stomach churned and she swayed on her feet as the past few hours slammed into her all at once.

“Hey--” Raven lurched forward, grabbing her arm-- “Are you sure you’re okay? How hard did she hit you?”

Clarke’s head shot up and she blinked a few times, clearing her thoughts. “No, no I’m good. I swear. Just… it’s been a really long day.”

“I bet,” Raven said, giving a sympathetic half-smile. “He made it though? Bellamy’s gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Clarke lied. She had no idea if he was going to pull through or not, but she had hope. And that was going to have to be enough for now. “Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.”

She sighed in relief. “Oh thank god. If Bellamy died I was gonna freaking kill him.”

Clarke huffed a laugh at the loose joke, and they shared a calm moment of silence. Both immeasurably relieved, and both pretending they hadn’t nearly brought each other to tears in the hall just a few hours prior. _We’ll deal with that another time._ “Anyway,” she started, clearing her throat. “I actually needed to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“I need you to find my mom and have her call a council meeting. Tell her to bring everyone who’s involved in dealing with Mount Weather.” The words fell out easily, and suddenly Clarke was an entirely different person. Strong. Demanding. She was exactly who she needed to be in that moment.

“Yeah, sure, I can do that,” Raven answered, eyeing her strangely. “Did something happen? Yknow, other than Bellamy getting shot and all that.”

“We’re changing the plan a little bit. Actually, we’re changing almost all of it,” she amended honestly.

“Oh.” Raven’s brows shot up slightly. “I, um… I guess I’ll go find Abby then.” She turned unsteadily on her heel, thumbing over her shoulder.

“Hey, Raven?” Clarke called out, stopping her.

“Yeah?”

“I want you there too. I know that you’re not technically a member of the council, but none of this would’ve been possible without you. I’m not holding the meeting unless you’re there.”

The corners of Raven’s lips turned upward. “I guess I better show up then.”

Clarke returned the tiny smile. “Thanks, Raven.”

They nodded their goodbyes, brief gestures to show that while things might be tense between them, they were still friends.

_I hope._

Saving the thought for another time, Clarke turned and walked measuredly across the quad, bee-lining straight toward the far wing that held her quarters.

She just needed to get to her room, grab her map of Mount Weather, then hold the damn meeting so they could get the ball rolling. Get their people out of the mountain. _Bring Bellamy back home._

The hot sun warmed her face like an open oven, but it was no comparison to the stifling heat that choked down the back of her throat. She swallowed thickly and ducked her head down further. _Bellamy never should've left in the first place._

To her right a group of teenagers talked and laughed, casually fumbling with a few spare knives and other handheld weapons. In the apocalypse, even fun had to be practical. Clarke didn't know the kids; their smiles and playful jibes. _They must not’ve been on the dropship._ Her heart sank even further. _God they have no idea what they're up against._

She shot them a sad glance. The ground had taken so much away from them, it was hard to believe that the teens from the dropship were the same age-- if not younger-- than the ones before her. _It's not fair._ Her lip twisted slightly and she turned away. _None of this is fair._

But that was life. And there was no way in hell that Clarke was letting things end without a fight.

 

* * *

 

“Do you mind telling us why we’re here?” A moderately annoyed voice broke the strenuous silence of the council room.

Clarke raised a testy eyebrow and stared at the owner without saying a word.

Smith buckled under her razor sharp gaze. “I mean, I don't _mind_ being called in for a meeting, I just… why… are we here?” he finished clumsily.

“He has a point,” Kane chimed in from the other side of the table, tone expertly neutral. “It's rather… unconventional to call a council meeting without any prior discussion.”

“What do you expect, Marcus? We’re clearly living in unconventional times,” Abby said flatly, arms crossed over her chest, eyes burning a hole into the side of Clarke’s head.

“Anyway,” Clarke began, pretending not to notice the heat behind her mother’s words. “I called you here today because there have been some… changes to the original rescue plans for Mount Weather.”

“We’re not leaving them!” David Miller cut in, panic rising in his voice.

Clarke held out a placating hand, sympathy twinging in her chest. “Bringing home our people is still our number one priority. I assure you, I haven't forgotten that.”

Miller sat back in his seat, stifled yet still visibly distraught.

“Our original plan of infiltrating the mountain by using the Grounder army as a distraction is no longer an option,” she cut out bluntly.

Murmurs rose up throughout the room.

“Why?” Kane asked, brow furrowed. “Are the Grounders going back on the alliance?”

“No--” she answered quickly-- “No, the Grounders are still compliant.” _As far as I know…_

“Then what's the problem?”

Clarke paused for a moment, staring straight at the table. Something hitched deep inside her chest.

Abby leaned forward in her seat. “Clarke?”

It felt like a million eyes were digging into her from all sides.

Clarke straightened her posture, clearing her throat. “We-- uh-- our inside man was compromised.”

Everyone was quiet, and the hole inside Clarke’s chest dug a little bit deeper.

“Oh...” Kane said, far softer than Clarke expected. “When?”

“A few hours ago,” she answered simply, keeping her voice level. “We received a radio transmission from Maya Vie-- a citizen in Mount Weather who has proven beyond crucial to the wellbeing of our operation--” she amended upon seeing a few confused glances-- “and with her help we were able to stabilize Bellamy’s condition and save his life.” Her heart lurched on the unspoken addition.

_Hopefully._

“Well that’s good,” David Miller sat forward, noticeably relieved. _Bellamy and Miller were friends on the Ark. I wonder if his dad knew Bellamy back then…_ “Still, Bellamy being out of commission definitely throws a wrench in things, doesn’t it?”

“See, I _told_ you Blake couldn’t do it,” a snide voice hissed in the back of the room. It was quiet-- so quiet that Clarke almost missed it.

But she didn’t.

“Get out,” she snapped, glaring so fiercely that she could feel her face heating up from rage alone.

“What?” The perpetrator looked around and huffed a shaky laugh. “Are you serious--”

_“Now, Johnson!!”_

The young man stood up without another word and exited the room. Clarke watched the entire time, wishing that a thought alone was enough to set someone on fire.                                                              

The door shut with a thud and Clarke turned her stare on the rest of the room. “I will not tolerate _any_ negativity in this operation. Understood?”

A few nods came from around the group before Abby finally spoke up, meeting Clarke’s eyes with a look that made her feel like she was six again. “Understood.”

“Good,” Clarke said, turning her gaze to the table before her.

“So,” Kane cut in softly, “What’s the new plan?”

“Right--” Clarke shook her head lightly and refocused. _You need to be strong right now. So be strong._ “With Bellamy out of commission we no longer have the option of dismantling the acid fog structure from the inside, which also takes away our previous plan to stage a distraction at the front gates with the grounder army. However, we’re not entirely without options. This… event… has shown me once again that our greatest asset isn’t our technology or our knowledge of the land-- we’re outmatched by the Grounders and Mountain Men in both regards. Our greatest asset is our ability to creatively and diplomatically solve _any_ problem that stands in our way. It’s what brought the Twelve Nations together on the first Unity Day after nuclear warfare destroyed the world, and it’s the reason that so many of us are still alive instead of dead in space from oxygen deprivation. And it’s what’s going to save us now.”

“How?” A young woman sat forward, expression toying between inspired and terrified.

“We’re going to overthrow the leadership in Mount Weather,” Clarke answered simply.

“Clarke--” Abby cut in-- “it sounds like you’re dangerously close to suggesting we throw an outright _coup_ on a hostile group--”

“Oh I’m not close to suggesting it, I’m directly _telling_ you that we’re going to do it.”

_“Clarke--”_

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal.” A small frown played on her lips as she looked out at the people before her. _We’ve all been through so much._  “But we don’t have a choice. If we don’t take out the leadership in Mount Weather then they _will_ kill our people in the mountain-- and then us.” Her gaze hardened. “I can promise that.”

A lull fell over the council.

Raven spoke up for the first time since the meeting began, natural confidence radiating straight from her core. “Well, then let's make sure those sons of bitches don’t get the chance--” she leaned back in her chair a little awkwardly-- “Respectfully…”

Clarke couldn't hold back her smile. “Oh, we’ll make sure of it.”

Raven nodded warmly, feeding Clarke a bit of her strength through their brief interaction.

Clarke cleared her throat and straightened. “Now, throwing a coup isn’t exactly an easy task, but that’s where our Mountain Men allies come in. Maya Vie is just one of many citizens to actively disagree with the mountain’s practice of harvesting Grounders for their blood. I think it’s safe to assume that if these people disagree with that, then they’ll disagree with murdering teenagers for their bone marrow even more.”

An uneasy murmur ran through the group. Clarke tried to ignore the way David Miller fell deadly silent.

“These people-- the ones who are forced into silence by the fact that they are _literally_ unable to leave that mountain-- they’ll be the way to get our people home and make sure that the Mountain Men never harm us again,” she explained, hoping with every fiber of her being that she was right. _Please, let more of them still have their humanity. Please let more of them be like Maya._ “These people will act as several inside men for us, helping execute the finer details of the coup while we ambush the mountain from the outside.”

“I thought you said that we wouldn’t be able to attack the front entrance anymore, that we can’t even take the acid fog down?” a voice asked from the back.

“That’s true, but we’re not _going_ to be attacking the front entrance. We’re breaking into the mountain through the Reaper tunnels.”

A few more murmurs rose up.

Raven raised a half hand, expression tired. “I’m going to assume that you’ll need a _lot_ more high-frequency tone generators, yeah?”

“At least five more,” Clarke confirmed. “Kane, I need _you_ to assemble a tactical team to make this mission as soon as possible. You know the guardsmen better than anyone else here-- make sure to pick people that don’t have a problem taking orders from someone younger than them. The last thing we need is to take casualties from egotistical insubordination.”

Kane gave a sharp nod. “Duly noted. How many guardsmen do you think you’ll need?”

“Between fifteen and twenty, but I want them to be highly trained. Both stealth _and_ accuracy are crucial for this operation to be successful. No rookies.”

“Agreed.”

“As for the rest of the mission, that's still up in the air,” Clarke continued. “I'll give updates on the status of our allies whenever necessary, but unless you're an engineer or planning on attending this mission I doubt these changes will personally affect any of you much. Any questions?”

A few people passively shook their heads. Most were silent. Clarke decided to count it as a victory. “Great,” she nodded, slapping her hands on the table. “If you need me I'll be in the engineering room. Dismissed.” And with that she strode out of the room with her back straight and chin modestly raised, despite the winding pit that had taken root in her chest.

_One problem down. A million to go._

 

* * *

 

Clarke sat at the end of the table, head propped up with a hand while she scribbled furiously on a notepad she’d “borrowed” from Raven. Miscellaneous lists and flowcharts littered the paper: a measly attempt at brainstorming that she'd scraped up over the past few hours.

It took less than thirty seconds of explaining for Clarke to get Maya on board with the new plan, much to Clarke’s relief. The last thing she needed at this point was a speed bump. Well, another speed bump.

Raven tinkered at the other end of the table with something that looked like it might've been a walkie in its past life. She hadn't spoken much since the council meeting, and Clarke was grateful for that. Her day had been stressful, to say the least. A few minutes of quiet was a balm on her chapped and bleeding psyche. It smoothed down her roughest edges, even if she couldn’t fully relax into the soothing atmosphere of Raven’s workstation. How could she? A mere twenty miles away, Bellamy laid hidden away in Maya’s quarters. Bruised, bleeding, and hanging by a thread.

_Barely even alive._

Clarke ran a shaky hand through her hair, pushing the thready waves out of her face. Her fingers snagged on a knot and she squeezed her hand shut, nice and slow. Just enough to make it hurt a little. She needed something to ground her. _He’ll be okay. Bellamy is going to be okay._

“Y’alright?” Raven asked without even looking up. Her face was screwed up in tense concentration as she expertly moved and replaced pieces from the device in her hands. Countless bits of wire and circuitry littered the table but Clarke still couldn’t tell if she was making progress.

“Yeah-- yeah I’m fine,” she answered quietly, letting her hair fall from her fingers.

“If you say so,” Raven shot back, not straying from her casual demeanor.

Clarke huffed a small sound that was supposed to seem indignant, and picked up her pen. _Where do I even begin… We’re throwing a coup in Mount Weather, I could plan for that. No, I need to hear back from Maya first. Kane’s covering the tactical team and Raven’s working on the tech-- what else do we need?_ She twiddled the pen in her fingers, mind swimming from the complexity of the situation. _We still need to talk to the Grounders and get them on board with the new plan. That’s not going to be easy._ She wrote ‘talk to Grounders’ at the top of the paper, underlining it twice for emphasis. _God, what am I even doing…_ She ran a heavy hand over her face and sighed. “How’s the uh… tone-generator thing--”

“High-frequency tone generator?” Raven finished seamlessly.

“Yeah, that. How’s it going?”

That got Raven’s interest enough for her to raise an eyebrow. “I think I might’ve found a way to replicate the frequency we need by getting the walkie to rebound back on itself,” she rattled off in a distracted monotone, pulling tiny pieces of circuitry from the device.

“Wow, can you actually do that?”

“Mechanically? Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem. But I can’t know for sure till I try it out.”

Clarke gestured expectantly.

Raven huffed a laugh. “Impatient as ever. Alright, here goes nothing.” And with that she sharply pressed the button on the walkie.

A high-pitched ringing immediately filled the air, tinny and wobbling like a shaky leaf.

“What’s wrong with it?” Clarke asked, raising her voice above the tone. “It sounds drunk.”

Raven pulled a face and twisted the walkie in her hands before clicking it off. “It’s not drunk, the frequencies aren’t syncing up,” she said, picking up the screwdriver to her side and prying it deep into the circuitry. “I might be able to fix that--” A clump of wires popped out of the device and Raven made a pleased sound before diving right back in.

Something lurched deep inside Clarke’s chest, kicking her pulse up by a few paces. _And if she can’t?_ Before she could voice her concerns, they were interrupted by a sharp knocking on the doorframe.

Raven’s face lit up. “Hey, Abby! What brings you around here?”

“Just checking in,” Abby answered simply, smile audible from her words.

Clarke cast her eyes downward and pretended to be writing. Things hadn’t been easy since she’d essentially overthrown her mother’s leadership to free Emerson, and she wasn’t in the mood to defend her position.

“Understandable,” Raven said. “It’s been a crazy day.”

Clarke’s heart lurched again. She remembered the blood. The decisions. The flat tone of the heart-rate monitor that could only mean that Bellamy, _her_ Bellamy, was gone. _God, what if he never wakes up?_

A warm hand grasped her shoulder, tearing her from the bitter acid of too recent memories. “Are you okay, sweetie?” Abby asked, far softer than she’d spoken in the past few days.

She stared up at her mom, mouth hanging open slightly, unable to say a single word. Somewhere deep in her chest, something twisted.

“Raven, can you give us a minute?”

“Yeah-- sure thing, Abby.” She shuffled quickly out of her chair and hobbled out of the room, gently patting Clarke on the shoulder on the way out.

And then they were alone.

“Clarke?” Abby asked again, softly brushing her hair over her shoulder. “What _really_ happened?”

Deep down in some corner of her logic-riddled brain, Clarke wanted nothing more than to reject her mother’s comfort. The softness of her eyes. The warmth of her hand, gently stroking the peak of her shoulder. What kind of leader still needed their mother?

She opened her mouth to tell her that _‘she was fine, truly’_ and thank her for her concern, but her voice caught and something else came out instead. “He died.”

Abby’s hand stopped. “What?”

“I-- Bellamy-- he--” her voice choked and her eyes swam with tears-- “He _died._ It was just for a minute but I heard it. His heart stopped. He was _gone._ ”

“Clarke, I’m so sorry.”

Her lip trembled horribly as the gravity of the situation finally set in. “I sent him there to die, and he did.”

A distant memory floated through the back of her mind. Her and Bellamy, exhausted and abused, sitting in the roots of a large tree as Dax’s body cooled. It was the first time that they’d truly connected, and it was also the first time that Clarke had seen how much Bellamy blamed himself for everything.

_All I do is hurt people._

If only Bellamy knew how much they had in common.

“Why do I keep hurting the people I love?” she choked out, pain spiking deep in her chest.

Warm hands cupped Clarke’s cheeks, wiping away tears she hadn’t even noticed. “You can’t blame yourself for this. Once you start blaming yourself for things outside your control…” she trailed off for a moment, eyes distant. “It’s a slippery slope.”

Clarke glared back, briefly letting anger replace her pain. “How would you know? You sent me to the ground. You _killed_ dad. Those things _were_ your fault.”

Hurt flashed behind Abby’s eyes, but she didn’t let go. Instead she gently pulled Clarke’s head to her chest and kept talking. “Maybe so,” she admitted quietly, stroking Clarke’s hair with careful fingers. “But that’s my cross to bear, not yours. What you did is very different.”

“How?” Clarke asked, a sob threatening the lone word. She squeezed the bridge of her nose with a hand and let out a rattling sigh.

“You made a difficult decision in a situation where there might not have been a better option,” Abby answered simply. “But what’s more important is that you didn’t force Bellamy into _anything._ He offered himself up for the mission, Clarke.”

“I knew what could happen--”

“So did Bellamy. He made his choice.”

Clarke didn’t know how to respond to that. How could she summarize how much he meant to her? How devastating it’d been to come _that close_ to losing him? How she _knew_ that Bellamy had a history of valuing other people’s lives over his own, but she _still_ sent him into the belly of the beast?

She couldn’t.

“I’m worried that he might be brain dead,” she admitted softly, letting the dark twisting fear out into the open air. It had tormented her from the moment Bellamy’s heartbeat miraculously came back, shattering her waking nightmare. However, to her growing horror, giving a voice to the fear did nothing to ease her pain.

Abby shifted a little at that, but stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“He was gone for so long,” Clarke continued, words falling out like pieces of a puzzle, clicking into place to form an image that she never wanted to see. _What if Bellamy never wakes up?_ “He was in asystole for almost three minutes.”

“He flatlined and came back??”

Clarke nodded softly.

“Clarke, you _know_ how rare that is. Only 2% of people come back from that,” Abby said, a touch of wonder tinting her words. “What happened today, some people might call it a miracle.”

That was too far. Clarke sat up, pulling away from the comforting warmth of her mother’s arms. “No, what happened-- what we _did_ to Bellamy? That’s not a fucking _miracle_ ,” she spat, misplaced anger tearing her apart. “It was horrible. It was inhumane. We cut him apart just to _try_ and save his life, and I don’t even know if it worked!!” She shook with rage, or maybe it was grief. “He deserved better than that.”

“He did,” Abby agreed carefully. “But hating yourself won’t change that. It won’t take back the things you’ve done, and it certainly won’t help Bellamy.”

Clarke stopped, anger quickly fading. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she said, rubbing a hand over her face. “I’m trapped here and I’m supposed to be helping people but I-- I can’t. Usually I can just shake this kind of stuff off, but it’s been hours and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m terrified that the next transmission is going to be Maya telling me that Bellamy’s dead.” She let out a short, near hysterical laugh. “How am I supposed to lead like this?”

Abby considered that for a moment. “You take it one step at a time. You do the best that you can. And past that? You cross your fingers and hope that it’s enough.” She huffed a quiet laugh at Clarke’s skeptical look. “I know you like to be independent-- you always have-- but it’s okay to lean on people when you need it, Clarke. I’m here whenever you need me. So’s Raven. And _when_ Bellamy wakes up, I’m willing to bet that he’ll be here for you too.”

Grief choked Clarke’s lungs. “I don’t deserve that.”

Abby smiled sadly. “Well I think you do. But even if you didn’t, I’d be here for you anyway.” She reached out carefully, pushing loose strands of hair back behind Clarke’s ear. “After all, that’s what moms are for, okay?”

Clarke nodded and shakily returned the smile, sniffing back her tears. “Okay.”

And with that agreement, she was almost ready to forgive herself. Almost, but not fully. That last piece would have to come from another person, from hearing his voice again and seeing him smile. From knowing that the world hadn’t lost him just yet. But until Bellamy woke up, she would just have to keep hanging on.

And if he didn’t?

Clarke knew that a piece of her soul would die with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay, I _swear_ that I'm working on developing some sort of a writing schedule. But in the meantime, thank you again to everyone who left kudos and comments over the past few months. Working on a WIP isn't easy and you guys made the process a little easier and definitely provided some much needed motivation, so thank you :) 
> 
> As stated in last chapter, I'd like to distinctly thank Eden (sassybellamyblake) and Miranda (drelllassassin) for still being my friends even though I through my rough drafts and ideas at them during all hours of the day and night. You guys are amazing and I love you both! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience!! Without further adieu: _Chapter 5 awaits._

_Clarke._

That was the first word that popped into Bellamy’s head as the world came into focus. The ground beneath him was firm yet lenient, to the point that he hardly noticed it pressing up into the planes of his back. A gentle white light encompassed everything, undeniably uniform, even to the furthest reaches of the horizon.

He was standing now. When did that happen? He wasn't sure, but the thought slipped from his mind before he could trace it to its origin, chasing down the wrinkle in reality like a dog leaping headfirst into a rabbit hole.

On any other day, something as strange as this place would bother Bellamy to no end. He was certain of it.

But now?

He wandered aimlessly. He thought of nothing. The world around him had flown past neutrality into a realm of its own creation.

No colors.

No sounds.

Nothing.

He was surprisingly okay with it.

_Clarke._

The thought came back again, more insistent and pressing. He puzzled over it momentarily.

_The hell’s a Clarke?_

It must've been awfully important if it kept popping up, especially considering how blank his mind felt at the moment.

 _This is weird._ He pursed his lips and gazed out at the never ending horizon. It was white all around, without even a tiny blip of color to mar the snowy atmosphere.

Something small and bright zipped past Bellamy’s face, stopping him in his tracks. He turned curiously, gaping up at the fuzzy white light, hovering mindlessly over his head. It floated mid-air, just out of reach, taunting him with its strange existence.

He shifted closer, holding out a careful hand, heart pounding in his ears. It held in place, glowing insistently. Somehow, it almost seemed alive.

 _Maybe this is a Clarke?_ He was completely fixated on the white light. Unblinking. Slowly drifting closer and closer. The unearthly glow expanded in turn, covering Bellamy in a wash of pure light.

He was just a step away now, feeling the warmth of the light roll up his arm, curling deep in his chest. He took one last breath, picked up a foot, and prepared to take the last step into the light.

A quick voice stopped him. “Come on, Bell. Don't you know you're supposed to go _away_ from the light?”

Bellamy whipped around, arms dropping to his sides. A small teenage girl stood before him, arms crossed sassily. A tattered homemade dress hung off her shoulders and her eyes were framed with perfect straight lined bangs  

“O?”

She smiled warmly. “Hi, big brother.”

His heart stutter-stepped as he stood there, mouth hanging open, unable to say a single word. _What the hell is this…_

He raked his eyes over her hair, her clothes, the playful look in her eyes that he swore died the second the guards dragged her off the dance floor barely a year ago.

She was never the same after that, was she? But here she stood, in all her innocent glory. Eyes bright. Hair soft. Face clean and free of the dark Grounder makeup that shadowed her stare most days.

She was just as he remembered her: a perfect memory.

Not-Octavia rolled her eyes and shifted her stance, leaning heavily to one side. “Seriously?” she huffed, a perfect blend of amused and annoyed.

 _Fuck, it really is her._ A tiny smile broke across Bellamy’s face, despite the pang of nostalgia cracking deep in his chest. “Hey,” he breathed, and closed the gap between them in two steps, wrapping her tightly in his arms.

“There it is,” Octavia laughed, folding her arms softly around Bellamy’s neck.

“How...” he asked, quietly trailing off, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer. This already felt too good to be true; he didn't need the crushing pressure of reality to shatter the moment. So instead he hunched slightly, pressed his nose into Octavia’s shoulder, and took in the familiar scent of secondhand detergent and homemade soap. _She always made it with mom._ It soothed something deep in his chest.

Octavia cocked her head, humming in thought. “How did I get here?” she finished his sentence perfectly.

He shook his head and held on tighter. “You don't have to tell me.”

She sighed at that, and pulled gently out of his arms. “But I do, Bell. That's the whole reason I'm here.” Her smile was soft, sad, and all too knowing.

Bellamy’s chest dropped. “What are you talking about?” he asked, flat.

“I'm here to help you,” she answered simply.

That only made him more confused. “What? Why?” _Something’s wrong…_

Octavia huffed impatiently. “ _Please_ tell me we don't have to start from the beginning here.”

“The beginning of what? What are you even talking about?” Suspicion clouded his lungs as the feeling of wrongness settled deeper. He looked around nervously at the blank landscape, the blank horizon, the blank expression behind Octavia’s eyes. A twinge of fear climbed up the back of his throat. _Wrong wrong this is all wrong._

“Come on, Bell. Think. How did you get here?” Octavia probed gently. Far too gently to be the snarky little sister who warmed his heart and memories.

He shook his head, hair tossing roughly over his forehead. “I-- I don't know…” _What the hell is happening??_

She grabbed his shoulders. “Yes, you do. _Think.”_

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, willing the gears in his head to turn. First there was nothing. Then, fire and blood flashed behind his eyelids. Something deep stabbed in his chest. “I remember… pain,” he started slow, letting the words come out naturally. “A lot of pain.”

“Cheery start,” Octavia huffed. “Anything else?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Why do I need to do this again?”

“I can’t help you if your brain is wiped, doofus. Can’t exactly learn your lesson if you don’t remember what you did wrong, can you?”

Bellamy cracked his eyes open a sliver to peek at his sister’s knowing smirk. _She has a point._

“Fine.” He shut his eyes again and started at the beginning. _My name is Bellamy Blake. I'm twenty-three years old. My sister’s name is Octavia._ That part was easy. He could've recited that much in his sleep. He pressed deeper. _We were born in space, but we don't live there anymore. We were sent to Earth a month ago to see if it's survivable, but people were already there._ He shuffled in place, squinted his brow tighter. _Grounders. Mountain Men._ Something deep inside him buzzed. _They took our people into the mountain. I went to bring them home and--_

A bolt of lightning shot down Bellamy’s spine. Images slammed into him, one after another, pummeling his brain with their vicious intensity.

Lincoln. Water. Acid. Shackles. Needles. Blood. Maya. Pain. Fear. Blood. Blood. Pain. Static.

_Clarke._

He remembered everything.

He shut his eyes tight and exhaled shakily. “Am I dead?” he asked, unable to stop the bitter smile breaking across his face.

“Not yet,” Octavia answered. “Although you really gave it your best effort.”

Something like relief eased his nerves, but only for a moment. “I’m gonna ask you again, and I _really_ need you to give me a clear answer this time,” he grit out, ignoring the oppressive weight in his chest. “Why. Are. You. Here.”

She sighed. “You didn’t die, but you _are_ dying. I’m here to help you decide if you should live or not.”

He stared at her in shock. “Oh.” _This can’t be happening._

“Yeah.”

A piece of rebellion kicked in his chest. “And if I don’t go with you?” he asked, low and strong, like he wasn’t scared out of his mind. Confused. Wishing more than anything that he could just wake up and forget.

“Then you die.” She shrugged casually. “Or not. Who knows? It’s not up to you at that point.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “So all I have to do is follow you, then decide that I should live?”

She nodded. “Yup.”

“And if I do that I live?”

“Ye-up.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

 _There’s no way it’s this easy._ He crossed his arms, strengthened his stance. “What’s the catch?”

Octavia smirked. “What? A girl can’t do something nice for her brother?”

Bellamy huffed. “I’m serious, O-- this is kind of important, okay?”

“Look,” she began, playfulness draining from her expression. “You’ve heard how people have to have the will to live in order to survive something big, right?”

“Sure. And?”

“That’s what this is. You want to live? Then you live.”

“Okay fine, I want to live. Done. Can I wake up now?” He shuffled in place impatiently.

“Yeah no, not that easy. We’re gonna have to make _sure_ you want to live first. _Then_ you get to decide.” Darkness clouded her gaze. “It’s not an easy decision, Bellamy.”

Something deep and unsettling flowed through his veins, like watching someone’s arm bend the wrong way. He swallowed nervously. “Then I guess we better get started.”

Octavia nodded sharply, then stuck out her hand with a smile. “Come with me, big brother.”

He took it silently, following slightly behind her bouncy footsteps. The atmosphere around them shifted, rolling and darkening before Bellamy’s eyes. The air took on a cool, metallic scent, and heavy chains emerged from the mist. Rows of cages followed closely behind.

“Remember this place?” she asked softly, still holding his hand.

Bellamy nodded. He wasn’t sure he could ever forget it. “The harvest chamber,” he returned simply. A flood of memories rushed through his head. None of them were pleasant.

“A generally awful place,” Octavia commented, as if she had read his mind. Bellamy distantly wondered if she could.

He huffed irritatedly and ignored the suspicious thought. “You could say that again,” he grumbled.

“A generally awful place,” she repeated cheekily.

Bellamy rolled his eyes.

“You said--”

A ghost of a smile poked at his face. “I know, I know.” He shot his sister a fond look, then quickly grew somber. “Why are we here, O?” he asked, quiet.

She frowned reluctantly, then nodded toward a figure that hadn’t been there a moment prior. “Remember him?”

Bellamy’s heart stopped.

Standing before them, tousled, bloody, and blue-faced, was Lovejoy. The last man Bellamy had killed.

“What is this?” Bellamy asked, voice shot to hell.

Lovejoy simply stared back, expression a picture of pure hatred.

Bellamy couldn’t help but remember Lovejoy’s son. He couldn’t have been more than four years old. The boy was happy when they met, a far cry from the terrifying gaze of his father that faced Bellamy now. Still, beneath the crumpled anger of Lovejoy’s brow, he saw something. _Lovejoy and his son have the same eyes._

“Would you say that all lives have the same value, Bellamy?” Octavia asked thoughtfully.

Bellamy swallowed thickly, edging closer to his sister. “I-- I guess?” he answered. The question seemed simple enough. Why wouldn’t all lives be worth the same? Or, more importantly, why did _he_ have a say in the matter? If Bellamy had it his way, he’d never have had to make such sweepingly drastic decisions. But, as luck would have it, Bellamy was never one to get what he wanted.

“Then why did you kill Lovejoy?” she asked suddenly. Sharply.

Bellamy snapped his head to the side, staring at Octavia in disbelief. “He was going to kill me!”

“I thought you said all lives are equal? Yet you take his life to spare yours?”

“I--” His head spun.

“I’m sure Lovejoy didn’t appreciate your logic.”

“I had to!” he shouted, desperation clawing at his core. “I had to, okay? No, I didn’t want to kill Lovejoy. I just wanted to escape the harvest chamber so I could save our people.” A trickle of despair ran down his spine at the realization that he hadn’t succeeded.

Octavia merely stared back. Waiting.

Bellamy let out a shaky breath, then uttered the words he’d grown to hate. “I did what I had to do.”

She paused in consideration, glancing between the opposing parties. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded. “Okay.”

He stared back incredulously. “Okay? That’s it?”

She shrugged. “I’m here to listen to your reasoning, Bellamy, not judge it. That part’s up to you.”

As he looked desperately into his sister’s eyes, the world around them faded, sending the scenery, and Lovejoy, to mere memory. The light shifted, and darkness bathed the atmosphere. A musky scent of earth floated through the air and humidity pricked at Bellamy’s skin. No matter the destination, he was certain of one thing: this was far from over.

“Are you ready for the next step, Bell?” Octavia asked. Soft.

He nodded once, tearing his gaze away to survey the scenery. The ground was earthy and warm, moss littering the dark brown surface. Generations-old pine trees shot up to the sky, seemingly far too tall to be merely ninety-seven years old. Quiet sounds of nature came from all directions, too soft to be disruptive yet too noticeable to be absent.

Bellamy knew this place. It was the vast forest spanning the distance between Mount Weather and where the delinquents first landed. Twenty-three miles across and filled to the brim with every kind of obstacle and confrontation that came to mind, and a few that no one had even considered. Still, somewhere throughout the past few weeks, Bellamy and the other delinquents had developed a sense of familiarity with this particular brand of nature. And despite its deadly quirks and hostile inhabitants, he could almost have said that he held a sort of fondness for the twisting vines and towering trees before his eyes. _Sure beats the Mountain, at least._

Although most senses of familiarity brought about feelings of comfort and recognition, the one that sat before Bellamy brought nothing but regret and pain. It was a largely colonized clearing, equipped fully with huts, storehouses, and pens for livestock. _The Grounder village._ It was just as he remembered it last. All that was missing was the blood.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, already growing tired of the repetitive question.

Octavia shot him a scathing look.

He rolled his eyes, putting minimal feeling behind the gesture. “Fine. _Don’t_ tell me. Can we just get this over with?”

“As you wish, my liege.”

Bellamy was tempted to genuinely roll his eyes, but stopped dead at the sight that appeared before him. Over a dozen corpses stood in the clearing, staring them down with laser-locked gazes. It was like magic, only infinitely worse.

_Eighteen dead. Eighteen innocents, all dead._

This was different than seeing Lovejoy. Bellamy couldn’t move, staring in shock at the bloodied, and supposedly dead, Grounders. Only they stood directly to face him, posed in an orderly line. Their eyes were blank, but their bodies were torn, and their expressions gave him nothing to indicate their thoughts. Not that it eased the pain. _God, the youngest couldn’t have been more than twelve years old._

He shook his head and cleared his throat, anything to gain a moment of respite. “I don’t understand,” he started, frowning in confusion. “I didn’t do _this_ ,” he pointed firmly at the the violence and bloodshed. The bodies. “I thought I knew what you were doing when we met Lovejoy-- but-- I just--” he broke off, shaking his head again. He spared the line of victims another glance. The dark stare of the young Grounder burned the deepest.

Octavia simply stood there, completely impassive to the sheer number of bodies before them. She crossed her arms, gave Bellamy a questioning look. “But you gave Finn the gun, didn’t you?”

That one cut deep.

“Even though you _knew_ that something was off about him?” she continued, tearing deeper, twisting the knife in his already bleeding wound. “After you saw him murder the other Grounder in the bunker?”

“I’m-- I don’t--” He couldn’t speak.

Octavia just kept staring at him with that same blank expression. “Do you have anything you want to say to them?” she gestured with an open palm toward the line of bloodied, blank people.

Broken glass rattled in his lungs. “I--” He swallowed, shaky and rough, and forced himself to make eye contact with every single one of the slaughtered Grounders, if only for a moment. His gaze halted on dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” he ground out, voice deep and rumbling. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Another beat of silence, then the world faded once again with an uncomfortable level of ease. The earth beneath their feet turned flat and compact, pressed firm by constant foot traffic. Heavy foliage thinned into something sparse and deeply familiar. “Why do they leave so easily?” he asked, quiet.

She pressed gently against his side, a dual move of reassurance and habit. “They don’t need a magic word, Bellamy. They just need _something_.”

He wasn’t sure if it explained anything, but it seemed to help. The deep scent of earth was slowly replaced by a distant thread of campfire and rocket fuel. “Are they at peace?” He wasn’t sure where the question came from, but it ate away at him, like a moth in an old coat.

“Who cares what they think? They’re dead.”

Her response stunned him into silence. Before he could consider the implications, a heavy layer of dust and ash settled through the air, launching Bellamy into a new realm by a primal trigger that he couldn’t control. The hairs raised on the back of his neck and his heart rate slowly crept skyward. Comparatively, he was still fairly new to this scene, but he’d recognize it anywhere. He’d never forget it.

_The battlefield._

Another appraising look from his supposed sister. “You know where we are?” It wasn’t really a question.

He nodded. “I know _when_ we are too.”

She huffed a laugh at his addition. “Well?”

“Outside camp walls, when the Grounders came and attacked us,” he answered without looking up. Far off in the distance, he could’ve sworn he saw shadows moving among the trees.

“Very good! Ready?”

He gave her a tired look. “Does it make a difference if I’m not?”

She paused for a moment, actually seeming to consider it. Then she shrugged, casual air returning full swing. “Nope! Let’s meet the not-so-lucky contestants, Bell.”

He followed her without a word, reluctantly letting her drag him forward by a hand. Like with the previous group of people, another line of Grounders appeared before them. There were more this time, at least twenty. They stood parallel to the makeshift wall surrounding the delinquent camp, axes and bows planted firmly in the ground, their steely grey eyes following Bellamy and Octavia like lasers as they drifted carefully past. And, also like the previous group, the Grounders were mercilessly riddled with bullet holes. Some seemed as if they were held together by nothing more than sheer hatred, glaring brutally at the pair despite inhuman levels of blood covering their forms.

 _Did I really kill this many people?_ He looked over them, trying desperately to remember the last moments of any of the lives before him. It didn’t seem fair to forget taking so many lives. Human lives.

“Any thoughts on this group?” Octavia asked. She was back to being quiet again. Her oscillating pattern of seriousness and humor was beginning to get on Bellamy’s nerves. Or terrify him. He wasn’t sure which.

He kept staring at them. Their glaring eyes. Their sharpened weapons. He knew deep in the pit of his soul that if he didn’t kill these people they wouldn’t have hesitated to take his life. Or, worse, the lives of the people he cared for. Yet another example of “kill or be killed.” _Although the guns might’ve been an unfair advantage._ The glint in the dead Grounders’ eyes made him feel like they’d agree. Still, this was bigger than him. This battle wasn’t his decision. So, he looked at his sister and shook his head. He had nothing to say.

She nodded sharply. “Okay then.” And just like that, the Grounders were gone. Nothing more than a blip on Bellamy’s timeline. However, as the bloodied figures faded, the scenery stayed the same.

Bellamy’s heart sank. He wanted to leave, but something told him he wasn’t done. Not yet. “O…”

She merely looked back, letting the landscape speak for itself. Everything stayed the same. From the trees to the trenches to the deep maroon bloodstains in the earth. The only thing that changed was the body count.

Twenty bodies turned into thirty and Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat. They were younger, more innocent. But they were torn apart just as brutally as the Grounders before them, if not more so. Ax and arrow wounds alike had ripped into their fresh young bodies, and for the first time since starting this journey, Bellamy thought he might be sick.

These weren’t Grounders. These were his people.

Something deep choked in his chest as he looked over the casualties. Some of them he knew well. For others he could barely remember their names. But they were all so young, and they all fought because _he_ lead them into battle. _More like I lead them to slaughter._ These deaths were on him too.

They stared back, eyes calm and peaceful. It didn’t seem right, for them to be at ease with such violent deaths. It seemed even less fair that while they’d perished, he escaped with nothing more than a few stitches and a mild concussion.

A familiar nudge came to his right, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze. “Anything for them?” Still quiet. It felt louder than a scream.

He pressed his lips together firmly, swallowing down the wave of emotion that threatened to pull him under. They’d given so much, they deserved an explanation. They deserved the lives that had been ripped away from them. But if the past few groups were anything to go off of, then Bellamy only had a few moments. So he steeled himself, and faced his soldiers one last time. “Thank you for your sacrifice,” he began, looking into the diligent eyes watching him. It didn’t feel genuine enough, so he swallowed thickly and continued. “You did good. You deserved better than this,” the last words were barely audible as his voice pinched and broke off. He cleared his voice, coughing roughly into his hand, trying to ignore the haze filling his vision. When he looked up, they were gone.

They were inside the camp now, the atmosphere having shifted ever so slightly. The sun shone high above them, beating down with a midday intensity that they’d grown accustomed to over the few weeks they’d resided on the ground. Dirt and sawdust filled the air: residue from their fledgling campsite taking form. As Bellamy looked over the stacked timber and newly sorted weapons, a whole new ache spiked in his chest.

“It feels like so long ago,” he mused quietly, reaching out to touch the metal wall of the dropship. It was almost hot from the afternoon sun, which surprised him. For some reason he wasn’t expecting a tactile response. That’d imply that this whole experience was real, and it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, right?

“Funny how that works, isn’t it?” Octavia added, hands clasped primly behind her back, expression as calm and flat as the surface of a lake on a still morning. It struck Bellamy that this Octavia, the one with the neatly trimmed bangs and clean eyes, had no emotional attachment to this place. Something about the realization made the world around them feel the slightest bit off. Like sitting in a chair with one leg just a little too short.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. _Focus, Bellamy._ “Yeah, I guess,” he conceded.

She raised her brows knowingly, as if reading his mind yet again. “Well, I guess there’s no reason to prolong this one either, is there?”

“Guess not,” he mumbled, despite every molecule in his body screaming for the opposite.

This time the delinquents stood in the center of the camp, backs facing the dropship. Bellamy didn’t even have to count them out, he knew exactly how many stood before them.

_Eighteen dead._

Eighteen dead teenagers. Children. Butchered and maimed by various horrific methods, but all still under Bellamy’s care. All still Bellamy’s fault.

Roma and John: death by Grounder while looking for Octavia. _My fault._ Atom and two others: death by acid fog. _I should’ve known better. We should’ve been more careful._ Dax stared Bellamy down with murderous eyes and a chill ran down his spine. That one was murder, plain and simple, committed in a moment of instinct-driven panic. His first kill. Or so he thought.

Further down the line, there was a small figure with braided blonde hair and wide, trusting, eyes. That one stung. _God…_ Bellamy’s heart twisted, and he stepped forward, reaching out a gentle hand. “Charlotte--” She was even smaller than he remembered.

Her eyes darted up before his hand met her shoulder and she flashed backward-- an illusion in the horrendously realistic picture his mind had painted. Her head was bloodied and her eyes were pained when she looked up at him, face twisted in a small frown. “I just wanted to slay my demons, like you said!”

“God, I--” Bellamy’s heart broke, and with it went his voice.

“Do you see the impact you have on people?” Octavia stepped closer, staring at him with an intensity that burned. “The decisions you make can take lives, Bellamy.”

He looked at her, but couldn’t find the words to speak. Something inside him had broken. Or maybe it was always broken. What else could lead him to make such awful decisions? “I--” His eyes clouded but he shoved it down, sweeping a rough hand over his face. _Don’t you dare cry right now, this isn’t about you._

Before he could speak, before he could even begin to make amends for his mistakes, Charlotte faded to the background. She was still present, but now just one more body in the shadows. Yet another tally on the list of fatalities.

A taller figure took her place, staring down at Bellamy with warm, kind eyes. It did little to alleviate the pain that followed in the wake of recognition. It was Wells Jaha, the “demon” that Charlotte had slain, all at his advisal. Still, despite the pain, despite the mistakes, his face had not a single note of hatred or disdain. Only sadness.

He couldn’t see clearly anymore, the forest floor fading to a dark smudge in front of his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know--” He shook his head, willing the words to come out, but he couldn’t continue. What good would it do anyway? The mistakes were already made. He already fucked everything up.

_They’re already dead._

A small hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him back. “So you see now, don’t you?”

He nodded insistently, blinking back tears. A deep winding pit rested in his chest, pulling away at every inch of life left in his body. He wished Octavia weren’t here to see this, to see his failures laid open and bare in front of them. She was still so young, still untainted by the cruel world around them. This kind of horror could break her.

Despite that fact, she simply continued looking up at him with her cool, judgemental stare, then nodded. And the bubbling acid in his stomach turned to ice. _I’m a failure. As a leader, and as a brother. And now Octavia knows it._

He tilted his head and swallowed down grit, ignoring the wrinkle in his brow and the frown in his lips. It wasn’t important anyway. “O,” he whispered, voice cracking and breaking. “Please…”

But she merely tilted her face in unison with his, then raised her eyebrows cooly. And the world melted around them once again. Earth tones fell away to cold metal and the warmth of sunlight gave way to the vast emptiness of space. As the final change left the air still and rife with the scent of dust and disinfectant, it stole away the last remnants of Bellamy’s calm.

The ground was supposed to be the end. That was when Bellamy began to make all of his horrible decisions, when his mistakes led to people getting hurt and lives being lost. But they weren’t on the ground anymore, and he knew what that meant.

Hard metal walls surrounded them from all directions and a neatly made bunk bed was built into the far wall. In the center of the room stood a table, and beneath it laid a trapdoor that Bellamy protected with his life.

He wasn’t ready.

Octavia stepped away from his side, dropping her hand with a flat huff, and simply stared at him. Like all the others before. “Well, this is where I leave you,” she said, plain and simple.

 _No, God-- Please--_ A sensation of pure horror filled his veins. “Are you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to finish the question. He hadn’t seen his sister-- his _real_ sister-- in days. Oh, but it felt like a lifetime. What if the unthinkable had happened and she’d slipped away like all the others? What if he’d lost her and hadn’t even noticed?

Dream-Octavia simply tilted her head in amusement and considered his statement, leaving his heart to skip a beat. Finally, after eons of toying with him, she spoke. “No, the _real_ Octavia is still alive-- at least as far as we know--” she added unhelpfully. Then her stare hardened. “But I think we both know that _this_ Octavia? The one you grew up with? The one you were supposed to protect?”

Bellamy was frozen in her sights. His mouth hung open slightly as he held her gaze, blood turning to ice.

His heart stopped entirely as she delivered the final blow. “She died the second you took her out of that door.” She nodded slightly to the side, indicating the exit, and as Bellamy turned to face the firm metal door, he suddenly knew why they were there.

They weren’t just on the Ark. They were in the quarters they’d grown up in. Where Octavia was born and had spent nearly all of her life. _Where she was safe until I let her leave._ That was his decision, and his decision alone.

 _I killed Octavia too, didn’t I?_ The realization hit him like the first spiderwebs of ice cracking in a pond, harsh and echoing.

A deep pain choked in Bellamy’s chest and he whipped back around, desperate to see his sister. To say something-- anything-- any words that might lessen the pain of his mistakes. But, to his overwhelming horror, she was gone. All that remained was Bellamy, standing alone in their empty quarters.

The sensation was too familiar to bear.

“God, no! O!” He spun around frantically, looking in every corner of the room. As if she might be hiding and if he looked hard enough she might come back.

 _This is my fault._ “O, please!” He threw aside the dining room table with a vicious sweep and pulled open the trap door.

 _All of this is my fault._ Empty. Not even a blanket laid inside the dark crevice. “No!” he shouted, voice breaking. “No no, god no, please!” He shook his head, tears flooding his vision.

 _All I do is hurt people._ If he wasn’t broken before then he certainly was now. He stood, looking desperately around their quarters yet another time. “Please, O. Come back. I’m sorry, god I’m so sorry,” his voice trailed off as he was met with nothing but silence.

 _I hurt everyone I care about._ He faced the door now, and something inside him broke. “Octavia!” he shouted, pulling at the door handle until his fingers burned. And when he couldn’t take that any longer, he started beating against the metal with his fists. _“Octavia!”_

 _I’m a monster._ His fists went numb and he sank to his knees. “Please-- just end it--” he choked out to whoever would listen. Whoever put him through this hell. Maybe, if he was lucky, they’d listen.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a ragged breath, waiting for it all to fade. Instead, he heard a voice.

“Bellamy?”

He lifted his head and looked to the side. A bolt of pain shot through his core when he saw her. “Mom?”

She gave him a soft smile, one that he knew oh so well, and the pain fractured even further.

Then, with a deep roll of horror, he realized why she was there. _Oh god, she’s the first person I killed._ Something deep broke inside of him at the realization and he stood, trying to give her-- his _mother--_ the dignity of a proper send-off.

“I know you didn’t want this,” he began, voice shaking terribly. “I _know_ that. You raised me to be good, but I--” he stopped, lip twisting.

Aurora just stood there, hands clasped patiently in a gesture that Octavia picked up years later, and listened.

 _Say it, dammit._ He continued, swallowing roughly. “You told me to protect my sister, but I messed it all up. I messed everything up. And I-- I just--” he shook his head, words trembling like a faultline, and tried desperately to hold his mother’s gaze.

She tilted her head when their eyes met and her face twisted with sympathy. “Bellamy…” she hushed, stepping closer.

His breath hitched in his chest and his lip trembled, but he pushed forward, determined to finish. “I just wanted to tell you--”

She reached out a hand to brush against his cheek, but he flinched back before she could touch him. _I don’t deserve this from her. I don’t deserve kindness after what I’ve done._ He squeezed his eyes shut and bunched his hands at his sides.

She dropped her hand to her side with a sad frown, and looked right into him, expression calm and open. “It’s okay, Bellamy. You can tell me.”

And after what felt like years of holding himself together, he broke. A deep sob shattered in his chest. “I’m sorry-- god I’m so sorry--” He clapped a hand over his mouth as he finished the statement, trying to stop the sobs from coming. But a dam had been opened deep inside of him, and he couldn’t stop.

Soft hands wound over his shoulders, pulling him close, and he was too tired to fight them. He buried himself deeper into the arms and sobbed so hard his chest hurt. “I’m so sorry--” It was all he could say. For all his mistakes. For all his hubris. For anything and everything he’d done wrong, he was sorry.

God, he was so so sorry.

“It’s okay, Bellamy,” his mother hushed, warm and soft. Like she hadn’t done since he was seven years old and terrified of the world falling apart around them. One hand wrapped carefully at the nape of his neck while the other ran soothingly up and down his back, tracing a pattern that eased the pain hitching in his chest. “I forgive you,” she said, quietly. Easily.

 _She can’t--_ He tried to push back, pulling his head up from her shoulder, but she held him fast, fingers winding lovingly through his hair. So instead he buried his nose deep into her neck and sniffed, shaking his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” he choked out, voice raw and thin.

“Yes, I do,” she replied simply.

His heart sank.

“I know about the Mountain. I know about the Culling. I know about you fighting the Grounders. And I know what happened to your sister,” she said, voice pinching slightly on the addition. But her hand kept winding gently along his back, and she kept talking. “I know all of your mistakes, Bellamy.”

 _She knows. She knows that I’m a monster._ His lip twisted and he tried again to pull away.

She let him pull back, but only slightly, grabbing his hands in her own and looking straight into his eyes. “I know this, but I still love you, Bellamy,” she urged, looking near to tears herself. Carefully, she reached out for him again, but this time he didn’t move away. His eyes fluttered shut as she cupped his cheek, stroking her thumb gently across his cheekbone, wiping away the pain and tear-tracks etched into his skin. “And I still forgive you,” she whispered.

He couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Why?” It felt like a cavern laid in his chest, swallowing anything good and pure in its depths.

“Because that’s what you deserve,” she answered, honest.

He opened his eyes and stared back through the tears, unable to speak.

Aurora smiled softly at him. “You’re still my son, and you’re still _good._ ”

His eyes trailed to the side and she stopped him, cupping his face in her hands.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I need you to try,” she insisted, then pulled him back into her arms. “I’m sorry for making you grow up so fast, Bellamy,” she said suddenly. “It wasn’t fair for me to force you into parenting your sister, and it wasn’t fair of me to force you into making such hard decisions. And I’m sorry for that.”

Bellamy reeled, then shook his head. “Don’t apologize, it’s fine.” His lip quirked in thought, then he added, “You did what you had to do.”

“Come on, Bell,” she said, words just a little sad. “You know that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

She was right. So he amended his statement instead. “Okay,” he nodded, pressing his chin securely back into his mother’s shoulder. “Then I forgive you.”

He could feel her smile beside him. “You see that? How you forgave me?”

He merely nodded again, but in truth, it felt like the easiest thing in the world. His eyes slid shut, and he wished he could stay there, in that moment, forever.

Aurora stroked a loving hand through his hair, carefully pushing the curls away from his forehead and ears. “You need to do the same for yourself, Bellamy. You’re worthy of that forgiveness.” She pulled him closer, tucking him securely under her chin. “You deserve a second chance.”

He still didn’t fully believe her, so he paused. A deep tendril of fatigue pulled at the back of his brain, and for a moment it felt like it’d be so _easy_ to just slip right under, without anyone noticing.

She could feel his hesitance, and she smiled sadly. But instead of pulling away, instead of fighting him until he gave in, she just held him tighter. “Give yourself that chance, Bellamy,” she urged softly, holding him close. “Promise me you’ll do that.”  

The tendril pulled harder, and it vaguely occurred to Bellamy that the sensation was outside his control. He was about to lose his mother, again, and it was up to him how he wanted it to happen.

So he sat up, eyes lidded slightly against the overwhelming exhaustion, and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered back, fighting against every atom in his body that screamed he didn’t deserve it. “I’ll try. I promise,” he added for good measure, securing the statement with a tiny smile.

Aurora leaned back and returned the smile, still softly, but some of the sadness had lifted. She looked him over for a moment, then nodded. “That’s my boy,” she hushed, pulling him back against her shoulder.

And as the world around Bellamy faded to white, the last thing he remembered was the warmth of his mother’s arms.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy’s entire body was filled with lead. He was sure of it. _God…_ Confusion didn’t even begin to explain his current state of mind. It was as if he’d completely skipped the first few levels of delirium and jumped straight to catatonia. Well, if not for the fact that he was currently waking up.

A quiet noise sounded to his right and he tried to turn to it, but his head swam like a mercury whirlpool, rendering the attempt a solid misfire. The rhythmic beeping piqued something in the back of his head, but slipped away before it could fully register.

He tried moving again, anything to gain _some_ control of himself, and this time managed a pathetic shuffle. However, he was quickly stopped by agonizing pain spearing straight through his side, threatening to tear him apart. He let out something between a groan and a scream, and writhed in place. The noises to his side increased, and something like voices joined the rapid mechanical beeping.

“He’s waking up! Bellamy! Bellamy?”

He tried to lay still, breathing rapidly. _Bellamy?_ His name! That was his name-- he remembered that now. But he still couldn’t quite register who the voice belonged to, and it launched another thread of panic down his spine.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Hands patted against his face and he swatted them away, hissing through his teeth when the movement only aggravated his pain. _Eyes-- Open your eyes--_ He cracked his eyelids open slightly, headache exploding as light shone straight through his retinas, burning and bouncing around the back of his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut again and pushed down a fresh wave of nausea. _Too bright-- God what is that--_

A deeper voice joined the first one. “He’s gonna hurt himself if he keeps this up.”

“You think I don’t know that, Miller?”

 _Miller?_ That hit another note in the back of his brain, but it was still to distant to grasp. Panic resounded as the confusion wove deeper. _Where am I?_ A hand grabbed his arm and he ripped it away, fully ignoring the pain the outburst caused. “No-- no--” he ground out, torn straight between fight and flight. Only he couldn’t pick one. He could barely even move.

“What do we do??” The deeper voice was closer now. Too close. Bellamy struggled harder, breathing heavily as the pain seared deep in his side, but his wrists were held firmly down against wherever he was laying. Thousands of enemies flashed behind his eyes. None would have a good fate in store for him. _I need to leave--_

He twisted, crying out when the pain blossomed into agony. “Please--” he gasped, kicking his legs out violently. Desperation climbed higher when those were suddenly held still as well. “Let me _go_ \--” he growled, voice a three-way tie between anger, fear, and pain. He bucked against whatever held him, only to have his vision white out as his side caught fire.

“Oh god--”

Hands grabbed his side.

“Come on, Maya! We didn’t save his ass so he could die now!”

His heart was beating so fast. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. _God where am I where am I what the hell is happening--_

Bellamy’s consciousness started to melt together in the panic. He was going to explode. There were too many sounds. Too many voices. Too much pain. Too much too much it was all too much and--

“Bellamy?” A voice crackled through the room, warm and familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. He paused, turning his head to face the voice’s origin.

“It’s Clarke. It’s okay, I’m here with you,” it hushed, soft, pressing away the wrinkles clouding his mind. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

 _Clarke._ He remembered this one. Just barely, but the awareness was still there. Golden blonde hair. Fiery blue eyes. A gentle smile. A deep well of feeling he couldn't even begin to draw from. Oh, he remembered her alright.

“Clarke?” he said, voice cracked and dry from disuse. His limbs began to relax, and the anguish overwhelming his body dissipated slightly.

A short, choked laugh. “Yeah, it’s me,” she answered with a quick sniff. “It’s okay, everything's gonna be okay. You’re safe now.”

He tried to speak again, but the words fell short, rolling into an incoherent mumble.

“It’s okay, don’t try to talk yet,” she reassured. “I just want you to sleep right now. Can you do that for me, Bellamy?”

That seemed reasonable. So he nodded, hoping she got the message.

“Good.” Her voice was warm. Soft. He missed her. “I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

 _Oh good._ He nodded again, more insistently this time, grimacing slightly when his side twinged.

“Shhh… Just rest,” she hummed, words caressing him gently. “You’ve earned it.”

He grunted softly in response, letting the soft grey of the atmosphere pull him to another dimension. All the while, Clarke continued whispering to him softly, a comforting presence among the rolling waves of time and space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My god. I cannot even begin to tell you guys how long I've been waiting to write this chapter. Pretty much from the beginning of this entire fic! Please please pretty please let me know what you guys thought (good and bad.) I did my best on reading and researching for the chapter, but the general consensus of the internet on dream sequences was "don't write dream sequences", so after deciding to completely ignore that I was essentially on my own there and am excited to see what you guys thought of it. 
> 
> Who else missed Bellamy? I know I definitely did! You'll be excited to know that he's going to be _significantly_ more conscious in future chapters, so we all have that to look forward to :) 
> 
> ( Random plot note: yes, I know I didn't have Bellamy talk to the 300 people from the Culling, but it felt like it'd be a little repetitive after the events of 1x08, and also I didn't feel like it. So I left it out ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ )
> 
> As always, extra special amazing thanks to Miranda and Eden for dealing with bits and pieces of my writing at literally all hours of the day and night (I'm relentless), I love you both!!! <3
> 
> And, thank YOU so much for reading and for your patience in waiting for this chapter! This was quite an interesting obstacle to tackle, so I'm hoping it'll all be easier from this point on :)


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